Shades of Grey
by The Second Batgirl
Summary: Racetrack wakes up in an asylum, to discover that everything he's ever known is a lie that the Newsies don't really exist. Has he gone crazy, or is he the victim of some foul plot?
1. There's No Such Thing As Newsies

Shades of Grey

Chapter 1-There's no such thing as Newsies

Racetrack Higgins groaned as he opened his eyes.  _How much did I drink last night? he thought to himself.  The events were definitely unclear in his mind.  He knew he had been crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, and there had been some sort of flash, and that was all that had happened before the world had gone black around him._

_Great, just great.  I probably passed out, and got stuck in the Refuge again._  This was definitely not a good start to his day.  Racetrack winced as he lifted his head off the pillow, and glanced around the room.  The walls were a stark white, and the windows and door were barred.  

"Hello? Where the hell am I?" Racetrack was in way too much pain to think of something witty to say.  Good thing none of the other Newsies were around to hear him.

"State your name," a cold voice boomed at him, seemingly coming from the very walls themselves. 

"Who's asking?"

"State your name," it repeated.

"I ain't got to tell anything to some voice. Come out wheres I can see you."

"You are in Warden's Asylum, and you will be wise to answer questions that you are asked."

"Asylum? I ain't crazy."

"You will answer using proper English grammar.  We accept nothing else.  Now, state your name, and where you are from, or you will pay the consequences."

The door opened, and two men wearing white coats walked in.  Both held nightsticks, and looked very anxious to use them.

"You'd best do what the doctor's said, kid," one of them advised.  "We haven't had an uncooperative patient in quite a while."  He clapped the nightstick in his hand, and grinned menacingly.  They meant business, that much was obvious.

"I'se Racetrack Higgins, and I'm a Manhattan Newsie. And I ain't crazy."

"Your real first name, Mr. Higgins," the cold voice called, and the very sound sent chills down Racetrack's spine.  He definitely wasn't in the Refuge.  Snyder may have been cruel to the boys under his watch, but this wasn't his style.  The nuns usually stopped him.  Whoever this was, this was something he wasn't used to dealing with.  But it would take more than a voice that came out of nowhere to scare Racetrack Higgins.

"Racetrack's the only name I got," he replied.

One of the men in the white coats, came towards him, and menaced the nightstick in his general direction.  Bringing the stick up against Race's throat, he gave a slight jab into Race's windpipe.

"Answer," the voice said again.

"What, you'se got a hearin' problem or something? My name is Racetrack Higgins."  He grimaced in pain as the nightstick struck, a quick, sharp, blow.

"You claim to be a what?"

This Race had no problem answering.  "I'se a Newsie."

The next question caused Racetrack a great deal of confusion.  "What is a newsie?"

"What ya mean 'what's a Newsie?'  The Newsies are the boys who sell you your papes.  What are you, crazy?"

"There is no such thing as a Newsie anymore, Mr. Higgins.  It appears that we have reached the source of your delusions."

"Delusions? What the fuck are you talking about?!  Why am I here?"

"You have been sentenced for treatment due to your delusion, and you will be confined within this asylum until your illness is cured."

"I'm not crazy," Racetrack snapped at him.  "You'se the one who's suffering from delusions.  Not knowing what a Newsie is.  Everyone knows the Newsies.  We took down the World!"

"Diagnois: Delusions of Grandeur, possible multiple personality, schizophrenia.  Confinement is definitely necessary.  Possibly dangerous.  Recommendation to be medicated."

The orderlies came towards Race, and one of them held up a needle.  Race backed up against the wall.  Because of his poker playing abilitys, Race was capable of keeping his face impassive under any situation, but by this point, Racetrack felt like panicking.  He was trapped with a bunch of crazies, who thought that he was crazy himself.  And they were in charge.  This was definitely not a good situation.  However, he was a Newsie, and a survivor.  He'd lived through worse situations before, and he could survive this one. He was a Newsie, and knew how to fight.  When the one with the needle got closer, Race kicked him, and made a dodge for the door.  He ducked under the other guys arm, and pulled on the door handle.  It wouldn't budge.

"You cannot escape us, Mr. Higgins.  You will be treated, and cured.  To make you a normal, and productive member of society.  Welcome to Warden's Asylum, your new home."

The last thing Racetrack saw was the smirk of an orderly, as something sharp jammed into his arm.

~*~

Author's Notes: Wow, I really didn't expect to be writing any Newsies fanfic.  This is dedicated to Signpost and StudentNumber24601, for making me watch Newsies, and reminding me of how wonderfully slashy it is.  Especially Signpost, for telling me that this thing is worth posting.

Also, I'm having a casting call!  I need inmates for my asylum, males and females!  For most of the story, the actual Newsies won't be appearing except in flashbacks… So, if you could email me at thesecondbatgirl@yahoo.com I'll give you information about what I need for a profile. 

This is R Rated, but only because I'm an evil, sadistic bitch, who thoroughly enjoys torturing poor Newsies.  Especially Race.  And Spot.

Any comments/criticisms are greatly appreciated.

Next chapter-more about the asylum! Why is Race here?  And are the Newsies really just a delusion?


	2. Time to Meet the Doctor

Shades of Grey

Chapter 2-Time to Meet the Doctor

This time, Racetrack had to struggle even harder to regain consciousness.  His head was still spinning, his ribs ached from the blow he had taken from the nightstick, and it was extremely difficult for him to move at all.  Everything he did was taking such a long time, and he barely was able to open his eyes.

"Welcome back to the world of the waking, Mr. Higgins," that same voice called.  Straining, Racetrack managed to open his eyes and lift his head off the pillow.

"Wha-" he managed to croak out, before his voice failed him completely.

"Perhaps you will be more cooperative this morning, Mr. Higgins.  We assuredly do not want a repeat of last night.  We would prefer that you would volunteer the information we desire, without the aid of drugs."

"I ain't.." he began, still fighting off the effects of the drugs.

"Yes, Mr. Higgins you are.  We have dealt with more uncooperative patients than a homeless boy from the streets of Brooklyn, who tries to make himself feel important by believing he has a job that died out years ago.  More difficult people than one who takes the persona of a Newsboy in an attempt to steal from unsuspecting old women.  You will cooperate with us now, and when you are cured, we will assure you are returned to society.  If you do not cooperate, then it will be prison for you."

Racetrack was by this point, incredibly confused.  The sedative that they had given him the night before, _or was it the day before, was interfering with his thoughts.  But he was still a Newsie, and he'd be damned if he was going to lose this easily.  Struggling against the side effects of the drug, he sat up._

"I ain't gotta tell you nothing," he told the voice defiantly.

"That, Mr. Higgins, is where you're wrong."  It paused.  "Bring him to me.  It is time to begin his first real session."

Racetrack definitely didn't like the sound of that one.

The door opened, and the two smirking orderlies walked in.

"I hope you'll enjoy your stay here, Mr. Higgins," one of them said in a way that made it clear that he was trying to sound pleasant, but really just wanted to hit Racetrack with that nightstick again.

"Get up," the other said cruelly, no trace of false pleasantries in his tone.  At least he was honest about his feelings towards Racetrack.

"Time to see the Doctor now," he was informed harshly.  "Consider it a privilege; most new patients don't get to see him for weeks."

The other grabbed him roughly around the waist, yanking him out of bed.  Race's legs were still unsteady, and he unfortunately had to depend on the orderly for support.  Not a good situation to be in, by anyone's standards.  Escape at this point was definitely out of the question.  There was no way that Racetrack could gain control of himself quickly enough to make a run for it, without being caught.  But that didn't mean he had to go quietly at all.  

The two goons, who Race was now mentally referring to as an uglier version of the Delancey Brothers, each took an arm and dragged him out the door, Racetrack still struggling to the best of his ability to break free of their grip.

Unfortunately, in his current state, the best of his ability really wasn't very much.  The two goons managed to drag him out the door and down the hall before he managed to get his footing back.  He barely managed to bring his foot stomping down onto goon number one's foot, trying desperately to trip him up.  All this managed to do was lead to Race taking another blow from the nightstick, this time in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.  He screamed in pain and outrage, and continued to shout as he was led down the hall.

The hall itself was stone, painted in an ugly shade of grey.  There was a seemingly infinite number of doorways, all of which were bolted from the outside.  From a few, faces peaked out, seemingly curious as to the identity of the captive making such a fuss.  

The walk seemed to go on forever, and the harsh lighting was causing Race to blink in pain.  This was supposed to be a hospital, from what he remembered the voice telling him the night before.  It sure didn't treat him like he was sick.  No, this was like the Refuge.  He was a prisoner here, and he had no idea why he was being held.  Or how long he would be stuck here.  At least with the Refuge, you knew how long your sentence was.  And you could usually count on the other Newsies popping by the windows to keep your spirits up, or maybe try to break you out.  Here, there were no Newsies.  Here, he was alone.  All alone.

For the first time in a very long while, Racetrack Higgins was afraid.  The Refuge he could cope with.  Being broke all the time he could cope with.  Worrying about being soaked, or if he was going to have enough money to eat that day was nothing.  But he had no idea what he was up against here.  And that worried him more than he could ever explain.

Finally, the two orderlies halted in front of a large door.  A tall, thin woman in a white uniform stood there, arms crossed over her chest.

"So this is the new patient that the Doctor was telling me about?" she asked, glancing down at Racetrack.  She was much taller than he was, although that wasn't that unusual.  Her voice was low, and smooth, almost pleasing to hear.  But there was something about her eyes that showed that this was not a person that you wished to cross.  The glare she was giving Racetrack rivaled a look that you would get if you crossed one of the Brooklyn Newsies.  Hell, she could probably scare Spot Conlon.  

"Yes Ma'am," the orderly to Race's left replied.

The nurse sneered at him.  "Well, bring him inside.  The doctor doesn't like to be kept waiting.  And you're already late."

"He gave us a bit of trouble, ma'am.  Doesn't quite seem to understand the rules of the house yet."

"We'll have to make sure that he's educated then boys, won't we?" she practically purred.  "Bring him in."  Stepping aside, she turned to Racetrack, offering him a tight smile.  "The doctor will see you now." 

The door behind her opened, and Race was shoved through it.  He was in a large hallway, filled with an almost blinding white light.

"Keep walking," the same mechanical voice boomed at him.  Race, having nowhere else to go, as the door had slammed shut behind him, began to walk forward.  He lifted a hand to shade his eyes, as the light seemed to be increasing in intensity the farther along the hall he walked.

Finally, Racetrack reached another doorway.  He hesitated.  If he went through the doorway, then what was happening to him, what he was experiencing was real.  He was about to discover who was in charge of this crazy house.  He was about to meet the man who was responsible for his imprisonment.  And whoever could do this, in such a short period of time, was definitely not someone to be trifled with.

"You will enter," the voice ordered.  "I will not be kept waiting any longer.  You are already proving to be difficult, Mr. Higgins, and in this hospital, you do not want to be considered difficult."

Racetrack reached out and grabbed the doorknob.  Opening the door shouldn't be that difficult.  After all, he was a Manhattan Newsie.  He sold papers on the streets every day, rain or shine, sick or well, 365 days a year.  He'd helped organize the strike against Joseph Pulitzer.  He'd won the respect of some of the toughest Newsies in Manhattan.  He'd gotten Spot Conlon to fall in love with him.  Well, if not love, then at least lust.  And that was enough.

If he could manage that, he could manage anything.

Gathering his confidence, he turned the handle, and walked through the door.

"Good evening, Mr. Higgins," the voice said to him as he entered the room.  This time, it didn't come from one of the speakers that had been mounted on the walls.  This time, it emanated from the old man sitting behind the desk in the center of the room.

_This, Racetrack thought to himself, _is the guy behind all this? He doesn't look that dangerous.  Not at all.__

It didn't take Racetrack very long to remember a very simple lesson. Appearances can be very deceiving.

~*~

Disclaimer: Luckily for Racetrack, I don't own the Newsies.

Author's Note- Right. So, this chapter definitely did not work out the way I wanted it to.  For one thing, it was going to be about twice as long as it is now.  But see, my muses were mutinying, so one of my friends stripped them out of their pirate clothes, and when nakedspot!muse met up with nakedrace!muse, they got a bit distracted…

For another thing, the whole "Spot is in love with me" thing was NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN yet.  But Race refused to walk through the damn door until I wrote it in.  I think he just likes screwing with my plot so I can't torture him as much.

Also, I've decreased the rating from R to PG-13, because it really won't be R rated for a while yet.  But it will eventually get back up there.  I enjoy torturing Race too much. :-D

I'm still accepting profiles for my casting call, so please feel free to send some my way.  thesecondbatgirl@yahoo.com

Now, shout-outs! 

Lizzie – You are not allowed to read this fic until you see Newsies. You're banned from reading it until you go out and rent the movie.   33333 you.

Dreamer110- I'm glad you like the story so far! I've got big plans for it. J

Shot Hunter- *blush* I'm glad you're enjoying so far.  Although honestly, this story is completely the fault of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.  I really shouldn't have finished that book right before watching Newsies.  Caused a bit of trouble you see…

Chicken Hater- I am writing! Slowly, but I'm writing. When my muses will cooperate, anyway.  Spot seems determined to get into the story early.

Sock Free- This really is more a One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest thing, but there are definite tones of Orwell in here too.  And you'll be pleasantly surprised by some of the inmates I'm writing in…. *big evil grin*

One of Henry's Exes- I'm sorry you're confused, but at this point you're supposed to be. And I won't be clearing up the confusion for a while. MWAHAHAHAHAHA.  And if you have any character suggestions, please send them in. J

Til chapter 3-

~TSB


	3. The Rules of the House

Shades of Grey

Chapter 3-The Rules of the House

"You know, Mr. Higgins," the doctor continued, "it is usually considered polite to respond to greetings."  His tone easily revealed that this was not just a criticism of Racetrack's social skills, but a warning as well.

"Evenin', Doc," Racetrack replied sarcastically.  Sarcasm and wit had never failed him before, so there was no reason for them to start now.  Or so he hoped anyway.

"Sit down, Mr. Higgins," the doctor said, gesturing to the plain, wooden chair that was positioned next to his desk.  Noticing Racetrack's hesitation, he continued sharply, "That was not a request.  It would not take very long to have the orderlies move you by force.  Rule number one of the house, Mr. Higgins.  You cooperate instantly when a member of the staff requires that you do something.  Anything spoken by a staff member is an order.  We do not like to ask twice."

"Sure Doc," Race said with a grin, and remained standing.

"The second rule of the house, Mr. Higgins," the doctor continued, ignoring Racetrack's interruption, "is that you will treat all members of the staff with the respect that they deserve."

"Well some of them don't seem to deserve my respect,"

"Each member of the staff deserves your respect.  They are the authority, Mr. Higgins.  Society demands that you show the utmost respect to all those of a higher status than you.  And those rules of society are heavily enforced within this institution.  Any disrespect that you show towards those in authority will cause you to be severely punished.

"This," he continued smugly, "means that you will refer to me as 'Doctor' or 'Sir', but not as 'Doc.'  That term is slang, and slang is not at all encouraged within these walls.  Our duty is to turn you into a productive and functioning member of society, and we will do so, at any cost."

Racetrack opened his mouth, a sarcastic reply at the ready, but he was interrupted before he had the chance to even begin.

"I would think very carefully before you speak, Mr. Higgins.  Your sarcasm may have helped you survive on the streets, but here all it will do is cause you great harm.  If you break too many of the rules, you will be placed in Iso, and I assure you, that is not something that you are likely to enjoy, let alone survive."

The threat wasn't lost on Race.  But he refused to listen to his common sense, which was telling him to keep his damn mouth shut.  He just had to get off at least one wise ass remark.  It was after all, what he did best.

"So, that's your standard cure-all in this hospital, eh Doc?  If your patients fight you, you just kill them? Wow, that's the best way of helping heal the sick I've ever heard.  Just kill 'em all."

The doctor's frown deepened greatly, and Race suddenly realized his mistake.

"What was rule number two, Mr. Higgins?" the doctor asked, his voice as cold as ice.

"Don't disrespect the Doctah," he repeated, allowing just a bit of defiance to show through in his tone.

"Rule number three, Mr. Higgins, is that all infractions of rule's number one and two are to be punished immediately, as to ensure that the patient makes an immediate association between his disobedience and his punishment.  I had hoped that the association between your disobedience and the pain that it has caused you, would prevent you from being so defiant in the future.  Most of our patients learn that lesson rather quickly.  Yet you've already been beaten and forcibly sedated once, yet you still try to defy us."

"I'se a Newsie, Doc.  It takes more than the likes of you'se to beat me."

"Ah, and there, Mr. Higgins, is the root of your problem.  I must remind you that this is the reason why you are incarcerated within these walls.  You are not a Newsie.  There are no Newsies anymore."

With this pronouncement, the Doctor stood up from behind his desk.  Reaching into a drawer, he pulled out a long rod, and advanced menacingly towards Racetrack.

"You will learn your place, Mr. Higgins," he continued.  "Let me assure you of that."

Flicking a switch on the rod, he thrust it at Race, who dodged the strike with ease, due to years of practice as a Newsie.

"If you make this more difficult than it has to be, you will regret it."  The tone only had slightly more emotion than Racetrack had come to expect from the doctor, with a slightly harder edge to it than before.  He lashed out quickly with the rod, and this time, Racetrack didn't have the time to dodge the blow.  He winced in pain from both the sharpness of the blow, and the accompanying jolt.

"Each time you disobey, Mr. Higgins, the electric volt will be increased.  It is not meant to cause you permanent damage, but just give you a sharp reminder of your place in society.  Now sit down."

Racetrack sat down, rubbing his arm as he did so, where the blow and shock had landed.

"I'm glad you're learning to cooperate, Mr. Higgins.  Now, we must discuss your future within our fine institution.  First of all, your diagnosis."

"I ain't crazy," Racetrack began, but was quickly interrupted by the doctor.

"I'm afraid, Mr. Higgins, that you are.  But, we will cure you of that.  It _is our job after all. Now, you have been claiming that you are a Newsie from the late nineteenth century, I believe?" He paused, evidently awaiting some response from Racetrack.  "That is what you claim, is it not?"_

Racetrack nodded sullenly.

"Well then, Mr. Higgins, the first thing that we must do is correct your assumptions.  The year is certainly not 1899.  You're off by nearly 70 years.  It is currently 1967.  Newsies no longer exist.  I must admit," he said with a chuckle, "that you are the first Newsboy that our fine institution has encountered.  Most people who operate under the impression that they are someone else at least believe they are someone famous, not some worthless street rat."

"You're lying," Racetrack said in a broken whisper, struggling to keep up his infamous poker face.  This was a feat which was becoming more and more difficult, most likely because of whatever drug they had given him before.  _1967? That isn't possible.  It's 1899.  I ain't crazy, I ain't making this up.  I'm one of the __Manhattan__ Newsies.  I was a striker, I sell papes for a living.  I ain't making this up._

"Not too sure about yourself, are you now, Mr. Higgins?" the doctor asked, a small grin crossing his features.  "Perhaps this will convince you to see things my way."  Returning to his desk, he withdrew a newspaper from the upper right hand drawer.  Beckoning Racetrack forward, he motioned to the date.  "Now, Mr. Higgins, do you see it clearly? September 27, 1967.  Certainly not 1899."

"You're lying," Racetrack said, his poker face cracking completely, along with his voice.  "This isn't real, you're lying."  It was all he could manage.  He needed to hold onto what he knew as the truth.  He was a Newsie.  Nothing could ever change that.

"You will soon learn the truth, Mr. Higgins.  That you are what you are.  What we found on the street – a worthless street rat.  Just a young boy.  Most likely a runaway or an orphan, who was trying to sell non-existent papers to elderly ladies in an attempt to take their money, or belongings.  Your violent tendencies, and paranoid behavior suggest that there is most likely some sort of schizophrenia involved as well.  We will cure you of your delusions, and then help you.  You will not have to return to life on the streets once we are finished with you.  You can enter the workforce, and become something much greater than you are now.  But that will have to wait until we rid you of this foolish belief that you are a Newsie."

"I am a Newsie," Racetrack said in as steady a voice as he could muster, and he silently thanked all his years of poker playing, which helped him keep control of his emotions.

"That remains to be seen, Mr. Higgins.  Now, it is time for you to be returned to your room.  Tomorrow, you shall start our rehabilitation program.  You will meet your fellow inmates then.  Until that time, Mr. Higgins, you shall remain incarcerated in your rooms.  Try not to antagonize the orderlies any further.  They are getting rather upset with you, and they will ensure that you are properly disciplined if you even think of another escape attempt."

The doctor pressed a red button on his desk, which buzzed loudly.  A door opened, and the two orderlies walked in, and reached for Racetrack's arms.  He didn't fight them as they roughly returned him to his cell.

~*~

Author's Note-Not much to really report this chapter, except that it was a lot of fun to write.  Next chapter, we're going to meet some of the other inmates in the asylum, so the casting call is closed.  I also have to give a really big thanks to B, Leah, Carrie, and Glimmer, for encouraging me this chapter. You guys rule.  And especially Carrie, who has beta read the last few chapters.

Shout-outs!

Shot Hunter-Glad you loved the Slashy Goodness! There will be a lot more of it later on, I promise. :D

GLimmer Conlon O'Leary-Yay for the reviews! You're like, the first person who I've directly "met" through this fandom, which is awesome.  Luckily, muses are cooperating now, so this chapter is done. :D

Dreamer110- The Doctor is only going to get creepier, just so you know. And Race torture is just too much fun for its own good.

Sock-free-No, but I got your profile, and you will have a fun place in my asylum, I promise.  I'm really sorry if you've met someone like my doctor before, because he's really creepy.

B-THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT. I hope you're happy. :-p  No, seriously, thank you for getting me addicted to Newsies. And then Newsies fanfic.  I'm so addicted, its scary.

Oxymoronic Alliteration-I'm glad you're enjoying, and its just going to get stranger.

Aura-Glad you're enjoying so far. J

Falco Conlon-Oh god, now I have a vision of the nuns flying around like Superman.  I didn't even realize that before.

Til next time!

~TSB


	4. The Others

Shades of Grey

Chapter 4-The Others

Racetrack sat alone in his cell, holding his head in his hands.  He'd changed into the white uniform that the orderlies had provided upon his return to his cell.  Since then, all he could do was think about the conversation he'd had with the Doctor.  He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, and truthfully, he really didn't care.  All he could think about what the date that was written on the pape the doc had showed him.  It couldn't be 1967.  It just wasn't possible, he was from 1899.  Not 1967.  And he wasn't crazy, he knew he wasn't crazy. He was Racetrack Higgins, after all.  He wasn't crazy.  Not possible.

He couldn't be crazy.

As he sat there, on the bed, holding his head, his mind racing, his thoughts whirled at an incredible speed.  The same thought, the same image, forever burned into his skull.  A paper, with the date - _September 27, 1967 - straight across the top.  It couldn't be real.  It just wasn't possible.  He couldn't be crazy._

"It's time to wake up, Mr. Higgins," a voice interrupted his train of thoughts.  "Or perhaps I should say something else, since you did not sleep at all."

Racetrack looked up, and saw the nurse staring at him.

"I'se fine."

"No, you really aren't," she said sweetly.  "But that's what we're here for.  To fix you."

"I don't need fixin'."

"Yet you can't sleep.  You spent the whole night talking to yourself.  A sure sign that there is something wrong with you, if ever there was one."

"I'se fine," Racetrack repeated, although he wasn't completely sure of himself.

"Come now, Mr. Higgins.  It's time for you to get your breakfast.  We think that it is well past time that you get to meet the rest of your inmates."

Race continued to sit there, ignoring the nurse.

"Get up," came the sharp call.

Racetrack sighed, and stood up.

"Good," the nurse said, smiling approvingly.  "You're learning.  Please follow me."

Racetrack followed her out of the room, and into the hallway.  He began to walk down the corridor, passing rows of identical doorways.  The walk seemed to go on for a while, although not as long as the one to the Doctor's office had been.  The nurse paused in front of a set of double doors that Racetrack hadn't noticed on his previous trips down the hallway.

"Time for breakfast, Mr. Higgins."

The door opened, and the nurse nudged Race forward.  The cafeteria was filled with people, all dressed in the same ugly white uniforms.  They seemed to mostly be teenagers, although there were a group of children sitting together as well.

The nurse led Racetrack towards one of the tables in the back.  "Here you are," she briskly.  "You'll be sitting with the other inmates from your hall."  She turned to the group at the table, and glared sternly at them.  "Introduce yourselves.  And behave.  I'll be watching you."

"Yes, ma'am," one of the girls said quietly, looking absolutely terrified of both the nurse, and the new arrival.

"Good.  You'll make Mr. Higgins comfortable then," she said, heading out the doors.

"Hi, have a seat," one of the younger girls said quietly, gesturing towards the empty chair.  "I'm Whisper, but don't call me that while any of the staff can hear you.  Call me Lauren then.  So what are you here for?"

"They think I'm crazy," Race said, as he took the offered seat.

"Well, obviously, if you're here.  Everyone is crazy except me."

"Unless you talk to the doctors of course," Racetrack said sarcastically.

"No, they'd agree with her," one of the others spoke up.  "She's in here because her parents didn't want to deal with her, and I'd prefer it if you don't talk about her that way."

"And who are you?"

"Name's Hunter," she snapped back.

"Kristen!" another girl spoke up.  "Please, you'll get us all in trouble."

"Oh, give it up, Pitch," Hunter said, glaring at her.

She flinched.  "Don't call me that, don't ever call me that.  My name is Amy."

"I miss the old Pitch," Hunter muttered under her breath.

Amy ignored her, and turned to Racetrack.  "My name is Amy.  You've already met Lauren and Kristen, and those are Ruby, David, Emily, Carolyn, Elsie, Matt, Joe, Danielle, Alexander, Brendan, and Michaela."

The group reintroduced themselves as Dreamer, Lock, Harlem, Glimmer, Daisy, Tag, Phoenix, Flame, Visitor, Multi, and Teddy.

"Who the hell are you?" asked Teddy, who was half mangling the ragged teddy bear that she was holding under her arm.

"Name's Racetrack Higgins."

"And your real name?" Amy inquired.

"Me name is Racetrack."

"The, the doctor isn't going to be very pleased with that," one of the boys (Matt, Race thought) stammered, not meeting Racetrack's eyes.

The girl with burnt hair, who had introduced herself as Flame snorted.  "Another troublemaker? If the doctors hate you, then I'm at least glad to meet you.  But really, Racetrack, that's got to be the stupidest name ever.  You gamble or something?"

"Yeah, I do actually."

"So you ran up a debt, and your parents through you in here to get rid of you.  Typical."

"Not that it's any of your business, but that isn't what happened."

"Right," Flame laughed.  "Next you're going to be telling me that you really aren't crazy."

"Exactly right," Racetrack laughed.  "Because I ain't crazy.  It's all of you who don't understand."

"We… don't… understand… what?" one of the girls said slowly, lowering her gaze to meet Racetracks.  She spoke in a low, even tone, with a hint of an accent.

"They keep telling me it isn't 1899, when I know that it is."

"Oh great, another freak like her Royal Highness," Hunter sighed.

"Like who?"

It was Amy who answered.  "Marie.  Over there," she said, gesturing to a pretty redhead sitting across the room.  "She thinks she's Marie Antoinette.  So she keeps telling everyone to eat cake, and to be nice to her because she's the queen of France."  She shook her head.  "Poor thing actually believes she's living in 1788."

Race quickly did the math in his head.  "She's off by over a hundred years."

Flame snorted.  "It's more like nearly 200 actually.  You're a crazy like her.  At least we know the year."

"It's 1899," Racetrack said stubbornly.  "Or at least it was when I last checked."

"Right. And I'm the queen of England," Flame laughed, then  jumped up on the table, screaming, "GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!"

Two orderlies came over, and pulled her off the table, and dragged her towards the head table.  Amy paled considerably, and hid behind Matt, wincing as Danielle was taken farther away from them.  Her eyes had taken on a horrible haunted look, and the rest of the table was looking towards her in sympathy.

While Racetrack watched, Flame reached the staff table.  Her head was bowed, and she had quieted considerably, as the nurse was chastising her.  They could not hear all the conversation, but bits and phrases came through.  All of it warning Flame about how she had just used up her last chance, and it was straight to the Doctor with her. Whisper was growing more and more angry, and it was only David's restraining hand that kept her from going up after them.

"She's leaving us," Matthew whispered.  "Why does everyone always leave?"

"Not her fault," Hunter said angrily.  "I hate this place."

"I predict that we'll not see Flame again.  She'll be ruined, just like all the others," came a haunting, almost mystical voice.  It was the girl who had called herself Harlem.

"You're predictions never come true, Emily," one of them snapped.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said haughtily.  "I'm always right.  Especially about this.  It's my gift.  I can see the future."

The group began to argue among themselves, until the nurse cleared her throat, instantly gaining the attention of everyone in the entire room.

"Back to your cells.  All of you," she snapped.

Everyone stood up, and began to head out of the room.

"Ms. Snyder," someone from across the room called quietly, "we haven't eaten yet."

"You will eat at lunchtime.  This meal is now at an end."

_Snyder?_ Race thought to himself.  _It's a coincidence.  It has to be._

"Amy, escort Racetrack back to room 87."

"Yes ma'am," Amy said shakily.  She was still trembling.  The group began to head for the doorway, and Amy motioned to Racetrack.  "Come on," she said.  "I'll take you back to your room."

~*~

Author's Notes-Thanks to everyone who sent me in profiles.  I owe all of you guys, a lot.  Many thanks to B, who is a total sweetheart and beta read this for me.  Next chapter, Amy tells Race more about the workings of the asylum, and we find out what's going to happen to Flame.

Disclaimer:  I still don't own Newsies.

Shoutouts:

B-I'm glad that this is making you want to write evil alternate universe newsies.  This is a very good thing, regardless of what you think. :P  And its completely healthy.  Really.

Sock Free-So, you've met the inmates now.  I think some of them should remind you of people… mwahahahaha

Glimmer- You're in the chapter! Only a bit, but you'll be in more. J  I promise.

Dreamer- I haven't even begun to torture Race yet.  Seriously, I have big plans for him.

Aura-It only gets creepier from now on.

Falco Conlon – I may have to go looking for the Flying Nun now.  You've placed a really scary mental image in my mind.

Til next time!

~TSB


	5. The Warning

Shades of Grey

Chapter 5-The Warning

Racetrack followed Amy out the doors without saying a word.  He was still surprised by what he had seen in the dining hall.  Even the other inmates, the other people who were _supposed_ to be crazy thought he was crazy.  And he couldn't be crazy, because he was a Manhatten newsie in 1899.  Not a psychopath in some asylum.  Yet they had told him that the pape the doc had shown him was correct, and it really was 1967.  

On top of that, the nurse's name was Snyder. _SNYDER._  That couldn't just be a coincidence.  But apparently Nurse Snyder and Warden Snyder had more in common than just the name, considering the apparent punishment for Flame.  Racetrack hadn't known her very long, but he was still worried.  Whatever was in store for her, it didn't sound very pleasant. 

The silence was getting to him.  Most of the other inmates had already returned to their assigned rooms.  His seemed to be further away than most.  The sounds of their feet dragging along the floor was the only noise at all, and Race could not take the silence anymore.

"What's going to happen to her?" he asked.

Amy hesitated. 

"I need to know," he told her quietly.  

Amy laughed, but it was a cold, cruel laugh.  "Considering that if you continue to cause as much trouble as you have been, you'll probably end up the same way, I guess you will."

"Look, I haven't done anything wrong.  There's been some sort of mistake.  I should be back at the lodging house now."

"You really believe that you're a newsie, don't you?" she asked.  "I've got to admit, that's definitely the weirdest delusion I've ever heard of, and I've been here a long time."

"It's not a delusion, I really am a newsie."

"You shouldn't say that," Amy warned him.  "They won't like it."

"I don't care what they think.  I'm going to get out of here."

"Nobody gets out of the asylum without cooperating with them.  Nobody.  It just isn't possible."

"Well, Racetrack Higgins doesn't take no for an answer."

Amy winced.  "That's exactly the sort of thing that will get you in trouble.  The doctors don't like nicknames."

"All the more reason for me to continue to use my own name."

"You'll end up in Iso," she told him sharply, shuddering as she spoke the words.

"That's the second time someone has warned me about that… what is it?"

"I thought you weren't scared of the doctors," Amy said quietly.  

"I ain't.  I just want to know what I'm up against."  Racetrack paused.  "Look, I don't understand what's going on.  You people tell me that I'm 68 years out of my time, and it just isn't possible.  I'm not crazy, so the rest of you have to be."

Amy started laughing again, and this time it was a sharper, more hysterical laughter.  "You aren't the only one in here who is convinced that you aren't crazy.  Most of them are though.  There's only a few who aren't crazy, and they're either in here because their parents don't want to deal with them, or society rejected them."

"Like you?"

Amy hesitated.  "I'll make you a deal," she finally began.  "You give me a name to call you, one that isn't your nickname, and I'll explain.  But… I can't use a nickname for you.  I just can't."

She sounded close to tears.  Race felt a sharp twinge of pity, but she was asking him for something that he just couldn't give her.  Most of the other newsies didn't even know his real name.

"Racetrack is the only name you'll get."

"I won't call you that.  You don't understand.  What they do to you if you don't cooperate."

"And you do?"

She nodded.  "You have no idea."  Tears began to stream down her face, and Race placed a hand on her shoulder.  

"Look, I ain't usually good at dealing with girls, but you okay?"

She laughed again.  "At least you don't think you're crazy.  I remember what that was like.  I was so happy back then.  And now… now everything is so horrible.  I just wish I was normal."

"So why _are_ you here?"

She glanced down at the floor.  "My mother… she didn't approve of me falling in love."

"Love ain't a bad thing," Race told her, thinking of his own love, who was waiting for him back home.  He had full intention of jumping Spot the second the two of them were alone together.

"Well, society wasn't exactly accepting of the person I fell in love with.  Mama expected that I would marry a nice rich doctor, not fall in love with another girl."  Amy gasped, and covered her mouth with her hand.  "I'm sorry, you probably hate me now.  I'm a… a _freak._"

"No.  You're not," he told her harshly.  Race paused, and couldn't believe that he was actually going to tell her this.  "Anthony.  My name is Anthony."

She nodded.

"So they sent you here when you told them you were in love with a girl?" he prompted. 

She nodded.  "I'm not the only one with a story like that.  Elsie got pregnant out of wedlock, and her father sent her here to keep her out of trouble.  And Lauren's parents couldn't deal with her, after she burned herself as a child."

"She burned herself? That's crazy."

"She dropped a frying pan on herself, and the oil in it…" Amy trailed off, seeing Race's understanding.  "She's the only one who really isn't crazy.  Nurse Snyder thinks she's cute, so she leaves her basically alone, as long as she keeps her mouth shut.  She's really the only one who isn't crazy."

"What about you and Elsie?"

"Elsie is depressed and… I wasn't always crazy.  But this place, it changes you.  They're right in that there was always something wrong with me.  My loving Tara, it just wasn't normal."

"You can't help who you fall in love with," Race told her, thinking of Spot.  He _really_ wanted to be back among sane people now.  Back at the lodging house.  Or better yet, spending the night in Brooklyn.

"They sent me here to fix me.  So I wouldn't be like that anymore.  I… I fought them, at first.  And they sent me to Iso.  You stop fighting after that." Amy was in hysterics by this point.  "They don't allow any sort of rebellion.  They make it a point of stamping it out of you.  If you keep on resisting them, then they'll do it to you too."

"They aren't going to break me.  Racetrack Higgins doesn't go down that easily."

"But what about Anthony Higgins?  Ra-Racetrack," she stumbled over the name, "Racetrack doesn't exist in here.  You should forget about him.  They'll kill him."

"They're not going to break me."

"You still think that you aren't crazy.  You still claim to be from the past.  You honestly believe you're a newsie.  And you insist on using your nickname.  Trust me, they'll go after you.  You've made yourself into a target.  And they don't miss."

"I'm not crazy," Racetrack told her.  "I'm not crazy.  I'm from 1899.  I'm a newsie."

"But you are.  We all are.  Anyone in here… and even if you were telling the truth, they will _make_ you crazy.  Nobody gets out of here without them leaving their mark.  Flame fought them you know.  She'd been fighting them for weeks.  And now… I don't know if they'll send her to Iso or not.  They may just quiet her.  And truthfully, I'm not too sure which one is worse.  You can live through both of them, but either way, it's an experience that will kill you.  Inside."

"That what happened to you?"

"Don't ask me," she pleaded.  "I can't talk about that."

Racetrack nodded, deciding it wouldn't be in his best interests to pressure her at the moment.

"What happens next?" he asked.  

"Because of the," she paused, searching for the right words, "interruption at breakfast, we'll be confined in our cells until lunch.  Normally, we'd be allowed to socialize in our groups in the common area in the mornings.  After lunch, we have group therapy until three.  Then individual sessions.  They last half an hour each, and we only go one day a week.  If you don't have a session, then you stay in your room.  Then dinner.  After that, bed."

"Why did they have you walk me back?"

She smiled, but it was the saddest look that Race had ever seen.  She looked even more hurt than Mush had on that day when they thought Jack had turned scab.  "Because they know that I can't fight them anymore."

They reached Race's cell, which was still open, and Amy motioned for him to go inside.

"I know it's hard," she said quietly.  "But you have to go along with them.  They like breaking people.  They like knowing that they've won."

"All the more reason to fight them."

"If you're going to lose anyway, you may as well keep your feeling safe inside.  So you can still be able to feel."

She shuddered, and gestured for him to go inside.  "Good luck Anthony.  You'll need it."

The door closed with a thud.

~*~

Author's note-Okay, so that was a really expositiony chapter.  But, it needed to be done.  Sorry about that, I promise that the next one will be actually advancing the plot.  In fact, next time is group therapy, and Race is really going to start his nervous breakdown.

Shout-outs!

B-3333333333333333.  I will be as nice to Tag as I possibly can.  Which isn't really saying much.  However, I will take good care of your OC, because I also love him.

Dreamer-Yeah, the nurse is really scary.  She freaks me out, and I'm writing her!  Hope you enjoyed Pitch's backstory, even though they really don't call her that anymore…

Thistle-Race torture is the most fun thing ever.  Its even better than Blink torture, which I've just started indulging myself in.

Gaia-Actually, the asylum is full now. Sorry!  And I do have plans for the other newsies in this, but not for a while yet…

Nani-Yeah, this is a bit confusing, and it will continue to get more so. *evil grin*

Sock-free- Yeah, a lot of these people really do belong in the asylum.  I pity them.

Aura-Crazy!Race is going to be really scary by the time I'm done with him. *grins*  Torturing newsies is definitely way too much fun.

Glimmer-*kicks your computer*  I hate it when computers don't cooperate.  Poor Race, he's going to be really upset and confused by the end of this…

Til next time!

~TSB


	6. The Meaning of a Name

Shades of Grey

Chapter 6: The Meaning of a Name

"I do not understand why I must participate in this session," Glimmer was saying calmly.  "This _therapy,_ as you call it, is beneath the notice of a Goddess."

Nurse Snyder sighed.  "Carolyn, what we are trying to make you acknowledge with these sessions is that you are _not_ a goddess.  You are a fifteen year old girl who happens to be operating under a serious delusion."

"You are foolish, mortal," Glimmer responded.  "One day, you will understand my true power."

"Right," Nurse Snyder smirked.  "All right, our next speaker is going to be Ruby.  Ruby, how are you feeling today?

Racetrack stopped paying attention.  Dreamer had been the sixth person to "share" so far, and the therapy session wasn't even close to over yet.  He'd spent a few hours in his cell thinking of what Amy had told him before going to lunch.  Lunch had proceeded without incident, although Flame's fate was still unknown.  Amy thought that she had been silenced, since there hadn't been any screaming from the Iso ward.  And since then, they had been listening to each member of the group discuss their problems.  Each of them was more boring then the next.  Racetrack simply didn't care about their delusions.  He just wanted to get out of there.

"All right then Dreamer.  We'll deal more with your drug addiction next time.  Hopefully, you'll understand that these cravings should not influence you then."  The nurse sounded more and more exasperated.  Apparently, this was a constant argument.  "Matthew, your turn."

Tag flinched as his name was mentioned, and began to stutter uncontrollably.

"Matthew, get control of yourself," Nurse Snyder demanded.  Tag winced at the harshness of her tone, and then nodded.  "Now Matthew, what do you have to share today?"

He looked down at the floor.  "I have nothing to say," he said softly, refusing to look her in the eye.  

"Really Matthew, you should do better than that.  You are twenty years old.  You've survived a war.  There is nothing except your own fear that is keeping you from leading a completely normal life," she said crossly.

Tag winced at her words.  If anything, he seemed to retreat even further within himself.  He spoke very quietly, and Racetrack had to strain to hear what he said.  "They left me," was what he managed to hear.  "They left me to die."  Tag just kept repeating the phrase over and over, completely ignoring the rest of them.

Racetrack looked at him in sympathy.  This was actually the first story that had made him care.  Being abandoned… that was something he could relate to.  His own family… well, that wasn't something that he liked to think about.  So he just wouldn't.  

Forcing the thought from his mind, he turned his attention to the nurse.  She looked mad enough to kill.

"Now Matthew, you know that you were not abandoned on purpose," she reminded him.  "You were shot, and it looked like you had been killed.  You cannot hold the belief that you were abandoned because of that."

"They left me to _die_," Tag repeated, much louder this time.

"You must not continue to hold that irrational belief.  You are a prisoner of your own fear.  Once you learn to love yourself, you'll be able to go live a productive life as a functioning member of society."

Tag winced, and brought his knees up to his chest, and began to rock back and forth, still muttering about how everyone left him, and nobody would ever love him.  Nurse Snyder got to her feet, and walked over to him.  Grabbing his shoulders, she began to shake him.  "Now you listen," she snarled.

Racetrack had enough.  "No, you listen to me," he snapped.  "Leave him alone.  Hasn't he been through enough?"

"You'll wait your turn Mr. Higgins," Nurse Snyder growled.  "Unless you'd like to share now."

"I'm not afraid of you," Race informed her.  "We beat back Pulitzer, the most powerful man in New York City.  We organized a rally that five thousand newsies attended.  We got the child labor population of New York City to strike.  And we won.  So you?  You're nothing compared to that."

"I'm glad that you're so important in your own delusion.  Doing all of that single-handedly, that must be a difficult task.  I'm surprised you managed on your own."

"My friends were always there for me.  I just helped Jack.  He's the one who made it all happen."

"And this Jack must have been a wonderful leader.  Always having all the answers."

"He did his best," Race responded, after a brief hesitation.  Jack had done his best, even if that _best_ involved him turning scab.  _But he came back to us_, Racetrack reminded himself.  _He led us through to victory.  We couldn't have won without him.  And we all forgave him._  But that little nagging doubt was still in the back of Race's mind.

Unfortunately for him, Nurse Snyder had picked up on his hesitation, and pounced on it.

"His best?" she inquired.  "And here I would have thought that in your world everything would have been perfect."

"We did our best," Race informed her.  "And we won."

"But your _compatriots_, they didn't all support you.  This _Jack_, he failed you."

"We beat Pulitzer," Race repeated.  But he didn't quite believe himself.  Jack's betrayal, his going scab, still stung too much.

"But Jack betrayed you, didn't he," the nurse pressed on.  "He left you.  Your own delusions, they didn't help you."

"Jack is not a delusion," Racetrack snapped.  "He's a good friend, and he did the best that he could during the strike.  He did what he thought was best for himself.  That's all that you can expect."

"For himself," Nurse Snyder repeated slyly.  "He left you.  Your own delusions left you."

Racetrack saw Tag flinch at the mention of being abandoned.

"He came back," he said, trying to hold his voice steady.  But it was so hard.  What she was saying hit way too close to home.

"Obviously, his leaving you was your subconscious' way of telling you that you didn't need these delusions.  You could go on without them.  They weren't real.  Your _friendship_ with them wasn't real."

"No," Race said, shaking his head.  "Jack didn't leave us.  He was just trying to protect us.  He told us so after."

"But he left you," she repeated.  "To protect you from you own delusions."

Race glared at her.  "We beat back Pulitzer, and we can beat you," he repeated.  But it was with far less conviction this time.  The nurse had struck a nerve, and they both knew it.

"You're all alone here," Nurse Snyder reminded him.  "No delusions to protect you.  This," she said, gesturing to the asylum, "is your wakeup call.  We are here to help you."

"No," Racetrack said quietly.  "No, that isn't possible.  I'm a newsie.  I was in the strike.  We stopped Pulitzer.  We stopped the most powerful man in New York.  You won't win."  But his protestations were hollow and empty.  She had made her first strike against him.

"You're going to lose," she laughed.  "You know now.  You understand.  Your so-called friends… nothing more than delusions.  They never really cared for you.  Your own mind rejected them.  But your disease, it just brought them back, and made up some excuse for you to re-accept this _Jack_ into your make believe world.  You know in your heart that he betrayed you, but you were so comfortable in your own little world that you wanted to rationalize his betrayal.  You know now. You understand Mr. Higgins, that you cannot be this Racetrack.  You want to get better.  They won't be able to hurt you anymore after that."

Racetrack listened and absorbed her words.  She couldn't be telling the truth.  It just wasn't possible.  But oddly, she was making sense.  His thoughts were spinning out of control.

"No," he whispered.  But he knew she was right.

"Yes," she hissed.  "Cooperate with us, Mr. Higgins.  Let us help you."

"Anthony," Racetrack whispered.  "That's my name."  His heart sunk as he spoke the words.  He'd already said his real name once, but that was at least for a good reason.  This time… by speaking his real name he was giving in, and he knew it.  It was a way of saying that he didn't believe anymore.  That they were right, and he couldn't be Racetrack anymore.  Not here.  He knew that he had betrayed something, something so essential that he couldn't put his finger on what he'd done.  But… nothing was making sense now.  He wasn't with the newsies.  He may not even be in 1899.  Wherever he was, he just didn't understand.

"Anthony," she repeated triumphantly.  "Good job Anthony.  You've just taken your first step in your recovery."

Race's heart sank.  This was not going to be good.

~*~

Author's Note-That didn't go nearly as well as I wanted it to.  It worked out so much better in my head.  Right.  So, next chapter will be another meal.  This time dinner.  And Racetrack will freak out a bit more.  Because making him freak out is fun.  And thanks to B for beta reading at the last minute. :) 

Shoutouts!

B-You really shouldn't have told me I could abuse Tag.  Because abusing him is oh too much fun. :D  I have plans for him…

Sock Free- More inmates in this chapter.  And there will be more in the next

Nani-Race will tell people about that… eventually. And poor Amy. There's a bit more to her story.

Thistle-Race abuse is too much fun. Seriously.

Glimmer-*points to opening lines of the chapter* *grins*

Aura-I like crazy!Race too.  Probably too much for my own good.

Pyromaniacal Llama-Fics are more fun than science homework though! (can you tell I'm never taking science again? I find it evil.)  And don't worry… its me. So there will be Spot and Race. Somehow. :D

Blaze-Ha! Someone finally caught the Matrix thing. *grins*  I seriously have this mental image of the doctor as Agent Elrond… but that may say something about my own sanity, or lack thereof.

Ann Valentine-*blush* Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying so far.


	7. The First Dose

Shades of Grey

Chapter 7-The First Dose

Racetrack was barely speaking by the time he got to dinner.  The rest of the therapy session had passed by in a blur.  He knew that a few of the others had shared their problems.  He really hadn't heard any of what they said.  He was too busy dealing with what he had done.  He'd given them his name.

What on earth could have possessed him to have done that?  He'd been Racetrack for eight years now.  Eight years where he hadn't called himself Anthony.  But first he had told it to that dumb girl because she'd been crying.  That one was understandable…this one wasn't.  He may as well have admitted that he really thought he was going crazy.  That they were telling the truth about the newsies not being real anymore.  Not for almost half a century.  But… everything he knew was the newsies.  He didn't know this world.  But this asylum seemed real too, and it just didn't make sense.  Nothing made sense.

"Anthony?" Amy said hesitantly.  "Do you want some water or something?"

The group was once again seated around the table at the cafeteria.  By this time, Racetrack had learned some of their names, but was mostly ignoring them.  He didn't really care.  Most of them were already eating the slop that the orderlies called food, but Racetrack didn't think he could hold anything down at the moment.  He didn't even bother to answer.

"Anthony, you need to eat," she reminded him.  "First session is always the hardest, but it will get easier.  They get to everyone.  They turn your own thoughts against you."

One of the girls, who he thought had been introduced as Teddy, snorted.  "You think everyone is against you Pitch.  That's what got you into trouble in the first place.  Stupid git."

"Be quiet you young whippersnapper," Multi said from across the table.  Except he didn't sound like the Multi who had spoken earlier.  His voice had gone from the voice of a normal 20 year old guy to a scratchy old voice, worn out beyond its years.  "Can't you see the poor fella's been through quiet a shock? When I was your age, we had respect for our comrades who were in trouble.  That's how we got through the Great War."

"Multi, you are our age."

"You'll refer to me as Walt, young lady, and you should learn to mind your manners.  Respect your elders."

Teddy's response was actually fairly amusing.  She threw the Teddy that she always carried around at him.

"Oh Bright Lady, protect us," Visitor muttered.  He, like most of the others around the table, was staring at Teddy in horror.

Teddy took a deep breath, and began to scream.  Racetrack had never heard such a string of profanities come out of the mouth of a _girl_ before.  She took another deep breath, and began to scream that if she couldn't have what she wanted, then nobody would have it.  Jumping out of her chair, she lunged at Multi, who was hiding down in a corner, and rocking back and forth very slowly.

"Sod off now, you stupid blighter," Teddy shrieked.  Some of the orderlies were coming towards them, but they weren't fast enough.  However, one of the girls from another table, who Race didn't recognize, got their first.  The redhead grabbed Teddy by the collar, and threw her into a wall.

"Thanks Annie," Multi whispered weakly.  His voice had changed again.  This time it was a distinctly feminine tone, and definitely younger than before.

"No problem Kimmy," Annie said with a wicked grin.  "I've been wanting to punch that bitch's lights out for months."

"Michaela! Annie!" Nurse Ratchet was shouting.  "What is the meaning of this?"  There was a brief flurry of activity as both girls were removed from the room, and then things went back to normal as everyone went back to their seats and resumed eating.

"Does that happen a lot?" Racetrack said weakly, speaking for the first time all meal.

"The Teddy and Killer thing? About once a week really," Lock replied.  "You get used to it."

"They've had this whole big feud going on for months.  It's really awful," Phoenix added.  "You'd think that Annie could just learn to forgive.  But instead she still continues to be upset about the way Teddy treated her and that group of hers over there.  I mean yes, Teddy did destroy their property, but you would think that they would have learned to move past that."

Racetrack stared him.  Was he listening to himself? That was the biggest load of bullshit ever.

"At least you're talking now," Amy smiled.  "I did warn you though.  It's easier if you just go along with them… then they won't make it hurt as much."

"I miss the old Pitch," Hunter groaned.  "She would have _died_ before saying that."

"She did die," Amy replied, her voice shaking.  "I'm what's left of her."

Nobody really knew what to say to that one.

There was an uncomfortable pause that was followed by Lauren.  "So," she said in a pseudo-cheerful tone.  "Anyone want another biscuit?"  

The group smiled, and began to act as if nothing had happened.  It was if Annie and Teddy hadn't been taken off, and as if Amy had never spoken.  But while they were ignoring the confrontation of a few moments before, it was still clear that none of them had forgotten it.

A loud alarm sounded, and the orderlies began moving around the tables, passing out little cups.

"Meds," Dreamer said in the most cheerful voice that Racetrack had heard from her yet.  "Took them long enough, I really need mine."

"Aren't you supposed to be _working_ on your drug addiction?" Shot asked her sarcastically.

"It's not an addiction if the government feeds it to you.  They're just helping us… and feeding my craving," she added wickedly.

"It is helpful, these pills that the mortal doctors feed us," Glimmer spoke up.  "With them, I am able to transcend to see above all of this confusion, and to contemplate the secrets of the universe."

"I bet it helps you see the future too," Shot laughed, looking at Harlem.

"I can see the future without the aid of drugs," Harlem snapped at her.  "And I see trouble in your future.  You'll be the next one to get Iso.  I know it."

By this time, the orderlies had made their way over to the table that Racetrack and the others were sitting at.  Each member of the group calmly took the offered pills, quickly swallowing them as they were handed out.  Lauren was the only member of the table not to take any, and the orderlies just smiled at her, patting her on the head as they passed.

"Higgins," one of the orderlies said, smiling ruthlessly.  "For you."  He shoved a cup full of pills at Race, who eyed them warily.

"What are all of these?" he demanded.

"You don't ask questions, freak, you just do as you're told."

"Tony," Amy said quietly.  "Just go along with them.  It isn't worth it."

"Look, I'm not taking any crazy pills if I don't know what they are and what they're going to do to me."  
"They're going to make you better, of course," Nurse Snyder spoke up, evidently having finished processing Teddy and Annie.  "You did tell me just a few hours ago that you realized that you were experiencing delusions.  These pills will stop the delusions, and then Jack and the others will never draw you back into their world again.  They'll just become a bad dream."

Race narrowed his eyes.  Definitely a bad choice of words on her part.  "Being a newsie wasn't so bad.  I had my friends.  We –"

"Your friends weren't real, Mr. Higgins.  They all abandoned you.  We went over all this already.  Take your medicine by choice, or we will force it into you."

Racetrack reached for the pills, muttering choice swear words under his breath.  He couldn't believe how short a time it had taken him to get to this state.  What sort of a person was he?  By taking these pills, he was turning his back on everything.  Even if that everything was just a dream of some sort.

"You do want to get better.  I understand how much this dream world of yours meant to you, Anthony.  It was a place where you could fit in.  A place where you had friends.  Where you were special.  But what we want to do here is to make you understand that you can be special without all of that.  Without some fantasy.  We'll help you, and then those demons from your past will let you go.  Just take the medicine, and let us help you take that next step in regaining your sanity."

"Yes Nurse Snyder," he whispered before swallowing the first of the pills.

An evil grin spread across the Nurse's face.  "Good job, Mr. Higgins.  Your session with the doctor will be tomorrow afternoon.  We've managed to fit you into our schedule rather easily, especially now that you've been cooperating.  Now," she said, turning her attention to the entire group.  "It's time for you to go back to your rooms.  Enjoy the evening."

The group began to walk away.  Racetrack walked slowly, and Amy followed behind him.

"It's awful, I know," she said sympathetically.  "The first few times it feels like such a betrayal.  But it'll get easier with practice, I promise."

"I shouldn't do this.  I don't want to forget them," he told her.  Race coughed.  "What were those pills anyway?" he asked her, wiping sweat off his forehead.  "It's really hot in here all of a sudden."

Amy glanced at him again.  "You look awful!" she exclaimed.  "The drugs… they must have misjudged your dosage somehow!  I'll go get the doctor."

Race sank to the floor, shivering.  He managed to sit up by using the wall for support, but everything was getting incredibly blurry.  The room was spinning out of control, and there was an incredible noise emanating from nowhere.  

Then he heard it.  Something that he hadn't heard in days by now.  A familiar voice.  It was definitely one of the newsies, but he couldn't place it at the moment.

"Race?" it asked.  "What happened to you? Where have you been? We've been looking all over for you Racetrack.  Spot's been throwing a fit!  Newsies all over New York have been trying to… Where are you going?! Racetrack!"

Everything faded out, and Racetrack knew no more.

~*~

When he awoke, he was back in his cell, and his head was killing him.

"Good morning, Mr. Higgins," a now all too familiar voice was speaking.  "It's nice to know that you're back with us in the land of the waking.  You were, I must admit, beginning to worry me."

"Nice to know you cared, doc," Race managed to gasp out.  He groaned again, as even those few words had seemed to have used up most of his energy.

"I am, of course, responsible for the well-being of all of the patients within these walls.  Young Ms. Marks was rather worried about you, and it appears that for once, her fears were justified.  It appears that we gave you a wrong pill.  The orderly responsible has been punished appropriately.  We will have to work out a more… suitable balance in the future."

"You ain't giving me any more of those things," Racetrack wheezed.

"I assure you, Mr. Higgins, that you will be taking medication everyday from now on.  We'll just have to adjust the dosage a bit."  The doctor arose from the chair he was sitting in.  "You should not have any more ill effects from the medication, Mr. Higgins, but I suggest that you get some rest for now.  Your table-mates will be very glad to know that you've rejoined us.  They were worrying about you over the last few days."

"Days?" Racetrack questioned.

"Yes, days.  You have been under my tender care for the last two and a half days."  The doctor began walking out of the room.  When he got to the door, he opened it, and paused.  "Breakfast will be brought to you.  You will join the others for recreation in the common room after they have finished eating, and then your day shall proceed as normal.  I will attempt to reschedule my appointments so I can fit you in."  He turned and left, locking the door behind him, and leaving Racetrack all alone with his thoughts.

Race sat up in his bed, and leaned against the wall.  He had a few things to think about.  One – was this reality actually the real world? Had he really been hallucinating for the last eight years?  Two – Whose voice had he heard before? And why had he heard it when there was no way that there was another newsie present in this hellhole?  Three – How could he avoid taking those pills?

Trying desperately to make himself comfortable, Racetrack began to think about the questions.  The memory of the voice was getting a lot clearer, and he soon realized who he had heard.  Blink.  And Blink _was_ real.  He had seen him.  But… the drugs were making him crazy at the time.  But if he was already crazy, then maybe the drugs were making him sane again…

Race sighed.  This was making no sense at all.  All he knew was, he had heard Blink.  And he desperately wanted Blink and the others to be real.  And Spot was looking for him.  Race smiled.  Spot at least had to be real.  And he was looking for him.  No matter what, Race knew that he would never be able to forget Spot.  If they wanted him to do that, then they were definitely going to be very wrong.

So.  The newsies then, had to be real somehow.  Or they were real to him.  He had betrayed his beliefs about them once, and he wasn't going to do it again.  He needed his friends, and they needed him.  So, his options were to get out of this place, and find his way back home to them.  

Racetrack straightened up, and an old gleam returned to his eyes.  Time to stop letting Snyder and the others jerk him around.  It was time for Racetrack Higgins to show the people here why you didn't mess with a newsie.

~*~

Author's Note: Racetrack's going to have some fun with this…  actually, he's really just annoyed that I've been torturing him for… 7 chapters now, and he needed some revenge.  Next chapter, it's free time in the asylum, and Racetrack starts to form some sort of plan to get out of there.  He was being too mopey anyway.  This chapter is dedicated to Lizzie, because she finally got around to watching newsies, and is now allowed to actually read this, instead of listening to me whine about how Race isn't cooperating.  

Thanks to Carrie and B for the beta!

Disclaimer: If I owned newsies, Racetrack would kill me.

Shoutouts!

Nani-Yay for you being review #42! (I like that number, it is the meaning of life, after all)  Good luck trying to figure out what's going to come next, I'm having fun with the plot twists. ;)

B-333  I promise, I'll abuse Tag more next chapter. *evil grin*

Aura-Race needs to get his backbone back. After all, I still have way more things to torture him with…

Rumor-Nurse Snyder is evil… she's going to get what's coming to her though. Eventually.  If I get around to it. ;)

Glimmer-It's the return of Goddess!Glimmer. You excited?

Checkmate-It's all about the creepiness really. It's a lot of fun.

Dreamer-If you thought Nurse Snyder was bad now, just wait until she finds out Race's backstory…

Pyromaniacal Llama-Don't worry. There will be much Spot/Race.  I really can't write anything that doesn't have Spot/Race in it.

Sock-free – This chapter should have made you happy. *wink*

Til next time!

~TSB


	8. Cards of Sorrow, Cards of Pain

Shades of Grey

Chapter 8-Cards of Sorrow, Cards of Pain

Racetrack was still thinking when he was led into the common area an hour later.  He'd eaten the breakfast they had given him without a word, all the time trying to figure out what he could do to get his life back to normal.  He had been starting to forget who he had been before he had gotten to this institution, until Nurse Snyder had inadvertently reminded him.  He had friends at home, who were the best group of friends that anyone could ever ask for.  They may have made some mistakes in their time, and Jack's betrayal did still hurt him, but they were brothers.  And then there was Spot.  Spot loved him, in his own strange and screwed up way.  He may not always be capable of showing it, but he did love him.  He'd proved it so many times over.

But would Spot love the person he was turning into?  He knew how fascinated Spot was with the idea of his poker face, and the way he was able to hide what he was thinking.  It had always given Spot so much pleasure to get some sort of reaction out of Racetrack, to crack his poker face.

Spot was the only one who could get that sort of a reaction out of him.  He was the only one who could get behind the carefully perfected mask that Racetrack had crafted over the years.  But now, in less than a week, the nurse had managed to break him.  Something was very wrong, and he needed to fix it, and soon.

"Anthony!" Amy exclaimed as he was led into the common area.  "You're okay!"

"It's Racetrack," he told her flatly.  "Get used to it."

He was mildly surprised by the amount of smiles that had broken out on the faces of the other inmates.  Most of them seemed to have looked up to Amy the way that he had looked up to Jack, as a leader, not just a friend.  But as she no longer fought, they probably felt the same sort of betrayal that he had felt when Jack had turned scab.  Even if, from what he had seen, Amy had a better reason that Jack had.

He glanced around the room.  It was set up as some sort of game room, but there really wasn't much in there.  There was a stack of boxes and a few tables.  Not much else.

Racetrack wandered over to the couches in one corner of the room where everyone else was sitting and plopped down a couch between Amy and Multi.

            "Hey Sugah," Multi purred.  "Come here so Candy can make you all better."  He grabbed Race and forced him onto his lap.  Race stared, totally shocked.  Admittedly, he _liked_ boys, but this was unexpected.  And he definitely wasn't interested in Multi, or Candy, or whatever he was calling himself now.

            "Get off me, Multi," Race snapped, moving out of his embrace.  "Not interested."

            "Now really, Sugah, I can make you interested."  Multi got up, and began to dance in front of him, gyrating suggestively.  Some of the others in the room, notably Shot and Dreamer, started cheering.  And when Multi started to remove his shirt, everyone was paying attention.

            "Oh, cut it out," Amy said crossly.  "Candy, give Multi his body back."

            "It's my body, Sugah.  I'm not releasing it."

            "I'll call Nurse Snyder."

            Candy/Multi sat down, and pouted, and everyone glared at Amy.

            Amy sighed.  "Seriously, the doctor seems to be cracking down on us lately.  There's two of us who have been silenced, and one in Iso in the last two weeks.  Do you really want to end up like that?  We're stuck here, and we're going to have to behave.  Like it or not."

            Most of the people in the room seemed to accept Amy's wisdom, but a few still looked upset.  Race couldn't stand it anymore.

            "You've gotta be kidding me," he said, looking utterly disgusted.  "You're just going to give up? Not fight?"

            "They almost killed you," Amy pointed out.

            Race ignored her, and looked at Glimmer.  "I thought you said you was a goddess.  Why don't you magic us outta here or something?"

            Glimmer shook her head.  "That is not for me to do, mortal.  I have a purpose here, and it is not to remove you from this space."

            Racetrack sighed.  "You know that what they're doing here is wrong.  You know that we need to get out of here, before they put all of us in that Iso thing."

            "We can't beat them, Tony," Amy told him.  "We've lost."

            Race shook his head stubbornly.  "We can win.  All of us, if we work together.  All it will take is us to start it, and the rest of the people here will follow."

            "And who's supposed to lead us?" Lauren asked.  "You?  You're just some nut who thinks he's a glorified paperboy."

            "Newsie."

            "Oh, whatever."

            Racetrack sighed.  He would have to do this another way.  Moving off the couch, he went to go look through the games that were piled in the corner, and grinned when he found a deck of cards among them.  _Perfect_.

            "So," he said wickedly, turning back to the group.  "Anyone know how to play poker?"

~*~

            It was nearly an hour before they were discovered.  They hadn't had anything of value to bet with, so they had played with monopoly money.  Race was winning easily, in fact, he hadn't even had to cheat.  Most of the others were entirely bankrupt, and only Tag, Harlem and Phoenix had enough left to finish betting this round.

            Not that it really mattered once the two idiot orderlies had walked in, to discover a game of poker.  The three who had been playing were quickly removed from the room, and taken straight to the doctor.

            Race heard Amy call "I told you so," to their retreating backs, and he was rather annoyed.  Although, it had been worth it.  Or at least he thought it had.  The look on the orderlies' faces had made it fairly clear that he had screwed up big time, and that he would pay for it.

            As they headed towards the doctor's office, Tag was shaking uncontrollably.  He was nervous enough normally around people in power, and now he was practically having a nervous breakdown.  Harlem didn't seem worried, in fact, she was claiming that they had nothing to fear, she had foreseen that the doctor would not punish them.  Phoenix seemed to be going through withdrawal, and just kept mumbling about how people needed to learn to abandon their hate.

            Racetrack, on the other hand, was a bit uneasy.  He knew the consequences that the doctor had threatened him with.  But he _needed_ to do this.  He needed to prove that he was still himself.  That the hospital hadn't changed him… even though he knew it had.

            The walk to the doctor's office was longer than Race had remembered it.  Last time he had walked this way, it had been with a sense of unease.  He hadn't known what to expect, he hadn't known where he was or what to expect.  But now he'd seen what the Doctor could do, knew what he'd been threatened with.  The only thing that was enabling him to keep his head held high as he walked down the long corridor was the belief that he could get out of this.  He was a newsie, he'd been through worse.  Race briefly thought about his family, and then pushed the thought away.  That wasn't anywhere he was willing to go.

            The doors to the doctor's office opened, and the four of them were ushered inside.  The doctor was seated at his desk, and he looked _furious_.

            Tag's shaking grew worse, and he was hiding behind Race, or at least attempting to.

            "I don't think I even need to ask who was responsible for this… _aberration._  Mr. Higgins, I had already warned you about your behavior.  I'd thought that you wanted to get better, not try to _rebel._"

            "Well, Doc, you never said that cards were off limits.  I was just having a bit of fun."

            "You were warned, Mr. Higgins-"

            "Racetrack."

            "Mr. Higgins," the Doctor continued, "that you must try to behave as an acceptable member of society.  That meant that you will stay away from socially unacceptable things like gambling.  And you were also warned about the amount of respect you were to show to your social superiors.  As punishment, you will be sent in for electro-shock therapy.  Perhaps we will be able to burn some sense into you."

            Tag let out a gasp from behind Race. "N-no," he stuttered.  "You c-can't.  He didn't mean any –"

            "Perhaps you would like to join him, Mr. Goldstein."  The Doctor's voice was cold.  "And to think, you were so close to being released."

            Tag let out a yelp, and took a step back.

            The Doctor glanced at the other two inmates.  "Anyone else going to try to stick up for Mr. Higgins?"

            Neither Harlem nor Phoenix spoke up.  They both glanced at the floor, refusing to meet either Race's or the Doctor's eyes.

            "You two will be confined to your cells for a week, and given limited rations."

            As the two were led away, Harlem glanced back, in apology.  Race met her eyes and nodded, it was okay.  She had no choice.  Phoenix stared straight ahead, and didn't look back as he left the room.

            "As for you two…" the Doctor pressed a button on his desk, and Nurse Snyder entered the room, flanked by two more orderlies.  "I hope you enjoy your therapy."

            The orderlies roughly grabbed Race, and began to push him through the doorway.

            "You'll pay for this Doc," Race swore.  "It'll take more than this to beat me."

            "Just keep talking, Mr. Higgins," Nurse Snyder said snidely.  "You're just digging yourself into an even deeper grave."

            The room he was led into looked, in Race's point of view to be some sort of torture chamber.  But he didn't have much of a chance to glance around before he was roughly shoved into a chair and strapped in.  

            "Enjoy your stay, Mr. Higgins.  When you're done, you will learn some respect."

            The Nurse flipped a switch, and Race began to hear screaming.  It took him a minute to realize that it was coming from himself.

~*~

Author's Note: It's done!  I live!  And it only took… two months to write.  And really, I'm not a fan of this chapter, but it will hopefully get better from here.  Although really, it was all Racetrack's fault. He heard me telling B I was going to give him shock treatment, and then refused to cooperate for the whole chapter.  Next chapter, we have the results of the shock treatment, and Tag reveals a secret.  Oh, and chapter title is a line from Rocky Horror, because I'm weird.

Disclaimer: I don't own newsies. Or the inmates.  I wish I did, because then I would have more than $5 in my wallet.

Thanks to B for the beta, and for putting up with my whining for the last two months.

Plug: Go read Learning to Lie by the ever awesome Signpost!

Shoutouts!

Thistle-Poor Race always seems to find himself in these sort of bad situations. I'm so mean to him.  As for the other newsies, you'll have to wait and see. *evil grin*

Nani-42 is the meaning of life, the universe, and everything. And it's my favorite number. :D  And as for Race's newfound confidence… let's see how long it lasts…

Aura-Race always wants Spot. It just has to happen. Sorry I took so long!

S. Piazza-*blush*  Thanks. I try my best… and as for Race, you shouldn't feel sorry for him yet. It gets worse from here.

Rumor-Oh, its not them who wants to kill Race. It's just me having fun torturing him.  They just want to break him. *evil grin*

Dreamer-Good question about the meds. I'll let you know eventually. *MWAHAHAHA*

Repeat-The answer to your question will be coming… much later. Because I'm evil.

Sock-free – Yeah, I knew you'd get a kick out of that one. *adores*

Lizzie-Glad you liked, sister dear. It means a lot to know that.  But I'm not going to stop torturing Race anytime soon. 

Shot Hunter-*grins* your OCs are so much fun to play with. :D  Thanks for letting me use them.

B-Drugging Race is definitely as much fun as beating Race up.  But I think shock treatment is more fun.

Glimmer-Oh, I'm not done with Glimmer yet. I have plans. *evil grin*

CiCi-That would be telling, now wouldn't it? You'll have to find out.


	9. The Cell

Shades of Grey

Chapter 9-The Cell

            The torture had been going on for hours, or so Race believed, before it came to a brief pause.  Race breathed a sigh of relief as the waves of pain subsided.

            "Tag?" he called hesitantly, his voice hoarse from all the screaming he'd been doing.  "You okay?"

            There was no answer.  Race tried to turn his head so he could see Tag in the next chair, but he couldn't get his neck to cooperate.

            "Tag," he tried again.  "Answer me."

            This time, he was rewarded with a slight groan in response.  Then, the lights were flicked on, and Race winced as the light assaulted his eyes.  He blinked twice, and waited until his vision cleared.  The doctor was standing in front of him.

            "Mr. Higgins, Mr. Goldstein," the doctor said sharply.  "I do hope you are enjoying your stay in my laboratory.  I would have preferred not to have had to re-educate you in this fashion.  But, we will do what we must do."  He smirked at them both.  "But perhaps you have learned.  Mr. Higgins, please tell me your first name."

            Racetrack lifted up his head defiantly, glad that his muscles had stopped fighting him, and looked the doctor in the eye.  "The name is Racetrack," he said in as strong a voice as he could manage.

            The doctor sighed.  "Really, Mr. Higgins, I wonder why you are so eager to have another session in my laboratory.  I was hoping that your education would proceed faster than this.  You seem to be exceptionally intelligent, yet you also appear to be a very slow learner."

            Race tried to crack a smile.  "I never was one for school," he told the doctor.  "Especially when I didn't like the lessons that were being taught."

            "You'll learn to like this," the doctor hissed.  "My lessons have never failed.  Just ask Ms. Marks.  When she first got here, she was like you – proud, defiant.  Now, she has learned her place and is well on her way towards becoming a productive and useful member of society."

            "You ain't gonna beat me, Doc."

            "I do not lose, Mr. Higgins."  He turned away from Racetrack, and instead focused on Tag.  Racetrack tried to readjust how he was sitting in his chair so he could see what was going on, and was rewarded with a partial view of his fellow inmate.

            Tag looked awful.  He was drenched in sweat, and his hair was plastered to his face.  He was breathing heavily, and was much paler than normal.

            "Well, Mr. Goldstein," the doctor began.  "Same question as I asked Mr. Higgins.  Your first name is?"

            "Matthew," Tag replied instantly.  He kept his head bowed, refusing to meet either Racetrack or the doctor's eyes.

            "Much better, Mr. Goldstein." The doctor positively _beamed_ at him.  "I'm glad to see that you've learned your lesson."  The doctor refocused his attention on Racetrack.  "You should learn from your compatriot, Mr. Higgins.  Your useless rebellion will only cause you unnecessary pain and suffering.  Do you really wish to put yourself through that, when you can instead end the pain for yourself?"

            "I'm not going to let you win," Race snapped.

            "But Mr. Higgins, I already have won."

            Race shook his head.  "No."

            The switch was flipped back on, and he began screaming again.

~*~

            Racetrack wasn't sure how many hours had passed, and how many more 'sessions' he had spent in the doctor's torture chamber before he had given in and told the doctor that his name was Anthony.  He was still shaking, but at least it had ended now.

            But the important thing was, he hadn't just given in.  He had fought until he could fight no longer.  Now, he was going to rest for as long as they would let him, and prepare for the next round.  Because this wasn't over yet.  He wouldn't let it be.

            The two orderlies dragged Racetrack through the halls.  Racetrack's legs were too weak to support him, and he was barely able to resist.

            He could see some of the other inmates as they were being ushered from their cells to the common room.  Some expressions offered him sympathy, others disgust.  He could vaguely make out Amy, who was watching him from the doorway to the mess hall with a mixed expression of pity and sadness.

            Nurse Snyder was waiting for him at his cell.

            "Defeated at last, Mr. Higgins?" she snarled.  "I'm glad you've come to your senses."

            Racetrack raised his head and looked at her, hoping to come up with some sort of witty response, but the thought of ending back up in that chair stifled whatever sarcastic response he normally would have offered.  But he did stare back at her in defiance.

            "Lock him up with the other delinquent," Nurse Snyder ordered.

            The orderlies grinned wickedly, and kept on dragging Racetrack down the hall, until they reached a single cell, that was bolted shut.

            One orderly flung open the door, and the other threw Racetrack in, slamming the door behind him.

            Racetrack looked around the cell from where he had fallen, his eyes slowly adjusting to the decreased ambience of the cell.  It was a small stone chamber, with no bed, and only a single window that was far out of reach.  The window was the only source of light or fresh air for the cell.

            A whimper from the corner attracted his attention.  Tag was sitting there, slowly shaking back and forth.  He was a total wreck.  His hair was sticking out in all directions, and there were fresh bruises on his face.  He didn't speak, and barely seemed to acknowledge Racetrack's presence.

            Racetrack tried to get to his feet, but his legs were still unsteady.  Ashamed of himself for falling this far, Racetrack crawled his way over to Tag, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

            Tag flinched back from Racetrack's friendly touch.  Race's hand dropped to his side.

            "Racetrack?" he asked hesitantly.  "Is that you?"

            "Yeah," Race said.  "I'm here."

            "I thought that they killed you," Tag said quietly.  

            "Nah, I'm still here," Race said, voice full of the bravado that he was lacking internally.

            "I… I'm sorry," Tag said.  "I left you.  I left you like they left me."

            "No," Race said stubbornly, putting his hand back on Tag's shoulder.  "You didn't leave me.  You were protecting yourself.  And you're here now, so it's all okay."

            Tag shook his head.  "No, I left you.  I shouldn't have left you.  It's what they did to me.  I'm an utter failure."

            Race sighed.  If he hadn't gotten Tag into this in the first place, he wouldn't be willing to put up with this stupidity.  But he was really tired of it.

            "No. You're not. So quit saying you are, because I already have a headache as is, and you really aren't helping much," he said crossly.

            Tag started to object, but then shook his head, and went back to shaking.  "I wish you wouldn't yell at me," he said quietly.

            "Then stop acting like such a baby," Racetrack grumbled.

            "I… I…" Tag stopped talking all together.

            "How long have you been in here?" Racetrack asked him.

            "Two days," Tag said shakily.  "Ever since they took me out of that chair."

            "Well, at least those two days weren't in the chair," Racetrack snapped back.

            "I know," Tag said.  "I can't imagine what it is you went through."

            "It wasn't that bad," Race told him.  He'd be damned if he was going to give Tag another guilt complex on top of the one he already had.  "Besides, I got you into it in the first place by making you play poker."

            "It was the most fun I'd had since I got here," Tag told him.  "Well, up until the being tortured part."

            "Yeah," Race laughed.  "That part…"

            "They've done worse though," Tag told him.  "I mean, at least it wasn't Iso.  They did that to Pitch and… well, you saw what happened to her."  Tag laughed nervously.  "They hate her so much, even more than the rest of us.  And it's not even because she fought them, it's because of Tara.  They don't approve of people like us."  Tag gasped.  "Her.  I mean, people like her."

            Tag hid his head behind his hands.

            "You probably hate me now," he said quietly.

            "If I don't hate Amy, why would I hate you?"

            Tag sighed.  "Because I like boys, and that's wrong."

            "No it ain't," Race said quietly.  "You can't help who you like."

            "So, you don't hate me?"

            "Nah.  I think you need to grow a backbone though."

            "You aren't going to leave me?"

            "No Tag."

            "Or tell them?"

            "Do you really think that I'd send someone back to their torture chambers?"

            Tag thought about it for a moment.  "No…"

            "Of course I wouldn't," Racetrack told him.  "Nobody deserves something like that."

            "They may as well send me back there.  After all, I'm never getting out of here."

            "You'll get out.  We all will."

            "No. I… I don't know how to cope.  After the fighting, and getting shot… I can't be on my own.  I'm, I'm safer here.  If I go out there, I panic.  Next year, they… they're going to move me to a longer care facility.  I'll be there 'til I die."

            "You're stronger than that," Race told him.  He looked over at Tag, took in his messy disastrous appearance, and saw the inner strength that was still inside him.

            "Nope."

            Race sighed.  "Look, I wouldn't be dealing with you if you were _that_ much of a wimp.  You survived a war.  You survived being tortured.  And you're really not that bad."

            Tag laughed, a bitter laugh unlike any that Race had heard from him before.

            "Survived for what purpose?  I'm an utter failure.  And you… you're the first person who has ever known my… my secret and hasn't hated me."

            "Yeah, well," Race began, "thing is…" his stomach rumbled.  "We going to get anything to eat or what?"

            "They haven't given me anything yet," Tag sighed.

            "Wonderful. Just wonderful," Race groaned.  He winced.  "Jesus, if Spot could hear me now…"  Race muttered to himself.

            "Spot?" Tag asked.

            "You heard?"

            "Yeah. Who is Spot?"

            "No one important," Race snapped.  He winced inwardly.  He couldn't believe he'd screwed up like that.  What was between him and Spot was best not mentioned here.  He'd heard what had happened with Amy, and he knew why Tag was so nervous about anyone finding out his secret.  He didn't want to end up like that.  What he wanted was to get home, and to be back with Spot, and pretend that the whole thing was just some sort of alcohol induced nightmare.

            "He your best friend or something?"

            Race sighed.  To deny what was between him and Spot after everything that Tag had told him would be wrong.

            "Boyfriend, actually," he said gloomily.  

            "You… you're like me?" There was more hope in Tag's voice than Race had ever heard from him before.  "But you have someone."

            "Yeah, well, he's back in 1899, and you guys keep telling me that I'm in 1967 or whatever."

            "You _are_ in 1967."

            "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

            "You really are crazy," Tag sighed.  "Too bad."

            "Will you just shut up already?"

            "So you hate me?"

            Race sighed, and leaned towards Tag.  "No. I don't hate you.  I think you're a good person. Now will you shut up about me being crazy?"

            "Well you are, and it's _cute_."

            "Cute?" Race raised an eyebrow.  "You hitting on me now?"

            "…"

            "I'll take that as a yes."

            "It's just… you tried to protect me, and you believe in me, and you're _like_ me.  Do you know how rare that is?"

            "Yeah.  And I'm with Spot."

            "But he's 68 years in the past.  Does it matter what you do?"

            "Shut _up_," Race grumbled.  "I don't want to think that way."

            "I… I'm sorry," Tag muttered, hanging his head.  "I don't know what came over me.  I'm such a fool."

            "No, you're not."  Race didn't understand what was happening.  He was with Spot, he _loved_ Spot.  And now just because he was stuck in a cell with a guy who was actually fairly cute and was possibly going to be starved to death, he was actually considering…

            Race leaned in, and kissed Tag full on the mouth.

            Tag kissed him back, wrapping an arm around Race's neck.      

            Soon, all objections flew from Racetrack's mind, and all he could think about was the moment, and the here and now, and Tag.

~*~

Author's Notes: I like Tag.  I like that B let me abuse him.  And then by abuse him, I mean have him fool around with Racetrack.  A lot.  Um. Yeah.  Also, Spot is not very happy with Race right now.  But I really don't blame him.  This chapter is dedicated to Funkie, because it was her birthday and I couldn't finish this in time. Love you dearie.  And many thanks to B for the beta. 

Also, I've recently started writing with the ever awesome Gothic Author.  You can find our joint account under the name SpRace Cake.  It is our mission to bring SpRace fluff into the world. :-D

Next chapter: There are some consequences to Race and Tag's little hook up.  *evil laugh*

Disclaimer: I don't own the newsies.  I wish I did.

Shout-outs!

B-Yep, Shock Treatment is also a Rocky reference.  And yes, it's all Dan's fault that you know that.  And I bet you were right on Tag's secret. :P  No poking me! 333

Thistle-I _like_ being evil.  Sadly.  The boys are rather annoyed with me because of it.

CiCi-For all that I love to torture Race, I also would never permanently cause harm. Well. Maybe.  And as for him getting out… well, you'll have to wait and see

Nani-No! Stay away from the pretty hair! *cuddles Dutchy*

Shot Hunter-Glad you're enjoying my cruelty. MWAHAHAHAHA

Gothica-*loves*  Don't worry, I still am a massive Race fangirl, as you know. The torture will pay off eventually. *grin*

Dreamer-Seriously, that scene was the entire purpose of Multi's character. Because I found the idea amusing.  And yes, poker rules.

Scout73-I definitely had way too much fun giving him shock treatment.  It's probably a disease by this point…

Jacky-I'm a firm believer in that school of thought.  You only hurt the ones you love… at least when it comes to newsies.

Glimmer-I'm so glad to be in the NJL with you. *hearts*  And yes, getting Race to do anything is nearly impossible.  But, I try.

Duncan-Sorry I took so long! But, I hope it was worth it. :)

Sockfree-Don't worry, Killer will be coming back later…

Rumor-*grins*  I like puns.  Too many Xanth novels as a kid… and Race was more cooperative this chapter, mostly because he got to make out with Tag…

Til next time!

~TSB


	10. Best Kept Secret

Shades of Grey

Chapter 10-Best Kept Secret

For the first time since he had arrived in the asylum, Racetrack awoke feeling vaguely content.  He was naked and curled up in his lover's arms, after a night together.

Which was always a good thing.

            He turned over to kiss his boyfriend, and then paled.  It wasn't Spot whom he had slept with that night.

            It was Tag.

            _Oh Christ_, Racetrack thought in horror. _Spot is going to kill me_.  _That's assuming I ever get out of here anyway._

            Racetrack sat up, and pulled away from Tag, and began searching for his clothing. 

            "Racetrack?" Tag asked him nervously.  "Are you okay?"

            "I'm fine," Racetrack snapped.  He winced at how angry he sounded.  It wasn't Tag's fault.  Tag wasn't the one who had cheated.  This was Race screwing up, pure and simple.

            Tag glanced down, and hugged his knees to his chest.  "If you regret what happened last night, I'm sorry.  I mean, you said that you were… were like me, and I just wanted… I'm so sorry, Racetrack."

            "I'm not mad at you.  I'm… I'm mad at me, if anyone.  Now shut up and get dressed before they catch us."

            Tag reached for his clothes, which had been hastily shed the night before.  As he pulled up his trousers, he looked at Race with eyes filled with fear.  "Do you hate me now?"

            "Get it through your head," Race said flatly.  "I don't hate you.  I'm not going to leave you.  Are you done now?"

            Tag didn't answer him, but continued getting dressed in silence.

            Racetrack felt a bit guilty for the way he'd treated Tag.  It wasn't Tag's fault that he acted that way.  He understood that Tag was sick… that there was some sort of reason for why he was in this asylum.  But Race just wished that he would freaking stick up for himself for once.

            "Look.  What happened last night… if I wasn't with Spot, then maybe it would work.  But for now, it was just… I'm with him, and it isn't fair for either of us."

            Tag opened his mouth to respond, but then froze with an expression of pure horror on his face.

            Race turned around to see what it was that was terrifying him.  The door to their cell was open, and Nurse Snyder was standing in the doorway, flanked by an orderly on either side.

            "Well," she said in an icy tone.  "I had my suspicions about you, Mr. Goldstein, but you surprise me, Mr. Higgins."

            "I don't have anything to be ashamed of," Racetrack told the nurse boldly.  But the thought of being sent back for more _treatment_ kept him from saying what he really wanted to.

            "What the two of you did was not natural, and you shall be punished for your indiscretion."

            "What gives you the right to decide what's natural and what ain't?" Race asked her.  "You don't have the right to tell me who I can't love."

            "So you love Mr. Goldstein then?"

            "I never said that." Race's voice sounded forced and unsteady, even to his own ears. 

            "And you, Mr. Goldstein, you love him?"

            Tag opened his mouth to respond, but Race beat him to it.

            "No, he doesn't.  I came onto him."

            Tag stared at Racetrack in shock.  But this was the only thing that Racetrack could do to make up for how he'd treated Tag, and what he'd done with him.  He'd survived one round in the chair already, and it hadn't been so bad, or so he tried to convince himself.  But Tag wouldn't survive a second round, and Race was _responsible_ for Tag.  He wouldn't leave him, the way that Jack had left the newsies.  He wasn't like that.  He was a better person than that.  He may be a newsie, a nothing, but he had some integrity left.

            "Is that true, Mr. Goldstein?" Nurse Snyder asked.

            Tag only nodded.  That was probably a good thing, because Race knew how bad a liar Tag was, and Racetrack highly doubted that Tag could say "yes" convincingly.

            The nurse stared at them, clearly understanding that Racetrack was trying to protect Tag.  Racetrack was torn between wanting a lighter punishment for himself, and the hope that Tag would be spared the pain of another session in that chair.

            Nurse Snyder's mouth curled up in a fierce smirk.  "Mr. Goldstein, you will be confined in this cell except for meals and therapy sessions.  I'll be sure to speak with the doctor about having your dosage increased.  And another session in the chairs as well… to make sure that no _abnormal_ tendencies remain after your… _encounter_ with Mr. Higgins."

            Racetrack winced.  Tag would be sent back to the chair anyway.  He hadn't done anything.  And they hadn't even gotten to _his_ punishment yet.

            "And as for you, Mr. Higgins," the nurse continued.  "I will be escorting you to the doctor's office immediately.  I know that Ms. Marks had already warned you about how we treat your kind here.  It will most likely be Iso for you."  The look in her eyes showed that she was going to enjoy punishing him immensely.

            With a wave of her hand, Nurse Snyder's will was done.  The orderlies stepped forward, and grabbed Racetrack roughly.  He tried to fight back, but it was to no avail.  He soon found himself on his knees, being dragged through the hallways.  Tag hadn't even tried to help him, and Racetrack knew that the other boy wouldn't step out of line again.  He'd been broken.

            Shocked murmurs caught Racetrack's attention as they dragged him down the corridors.  He couldn't lift his head enough to see their faces, but he definitely heard one exchange between Glimmer and Amy.

            "I knew he was going to get in trouble again."

            That was Amy, her voice sad and disapproving.

            "He's like you were, once."

            Glimmer.  Her voice held a grudging amount of awe, and respect.

            "I know, Glimm.  That's what worries me."

            Whatever they said next, Racetrack didn't hear.  His head was throbbing from where he had been hit during his brief struggle, and they had already passed out of range of their voices.

            The orderlies didn't speak to him at all while they marched, and Nurse Snyder had gone on ahead to speak to the doctor.  Racetrack hated how long the walk to the doctor's office was.  It was even worse now that he wasn't moving under his own power.  He'd attempted to stand a few times, but each attempt resulted in a tap to the back of his head with the clubs that the orderlies carried, each time sharper than the one before.  Unlike previous beatings, these weren't intended to cause him severe pain; just a warning that he would stay down, or he would regret it.  After his third time, Racetrack stayed down and concentrated on the floor, keeping his head as low as possible.  It was only a minor defeat, but all of his losses were adding up and getting to the point of unbearable.

            Finally, they reached the doctor's door, and the now familiar sound of the doctor growling "Enter" caused Racetrack both relief and apprehension.  He was unceremoniously dumped on the carpet in front of the doctor's desk, and lifted his eyes to stare down the doctor's sharp gaze.

            "So," the Doctor said, staring at him in what could either be interpreted as shock, or anger, or both.  "Nurse Snyder informs me that we may have severely misjudged you, Mr. Higgins.  It's bad enough that we have Ms. Marks in this asylum, even if she is nearly cured of her oddity, but now we have you, corrupting one of my other inmates."

            Numerous biting replies made their way to the tip of Racetrack's tongue, but the amount of beatings he'd received in the last few days silenced him.  Somehow, he got the idea that this was different.  He'd been in trouble constantly since he had arrived at this hospital, and he'd been subjected to the treatments.  And while the doctor had been angry at him before, this was a new level of fury that he hadn't previously seen.  Instead of shouting, like he had done after the incident in the game room, this was more disappointment.

            Racetrack remembered what they had said… he had survived as many things as Amy had, but she had finally been broken.  And she had seemed convinced that he would be broken eventually as well.  Somehow, Race realized that this was the final test… if he survived this, then they couldn't touch him, and he'd have won.  Somehow he would be able to get out of here, if he could make it through whatever they were going to do to him.

            "I think, Mr. Higgins, that we will make one last effort to redeem you, instead of just silencing you as we should," the doctor told him, sounding resigned.  "It would be better just to silence you, although I think it is time to teach the inmates another lesson.  They've begun to look to you as a leader, and now they will watch their hero fall."

            The doctor turned to Nurse Snyder.  "Prepare an isolation cell.  Bring Mr. Higgins there, and leave him until he breaks.  Or until he dies, whichever comes first."

            The doctor's pronouncement sent a shiver down Racetrack's spine.  How could he speak so casually about killing him?

            "Until I die, Doc?  Wouldn't that cause you some trouble?"

            "Not at all, Mr. Higgins.  As you yourself have said, you're just a street rat, a nobody.  No one has come looking for you since you were committed here.  Nobody is coming for you.  You have no family, no friends.  If you are found dead on the street tomorrow, nobody will care."

            The orderlies grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, and pulled him into a corridor that Racetrack had never been in before.  This hallway wasn't dimly lit like the main corridors in the asylum, instead it was bright and piercing.

            They stopped in front of what looked like a long row of metal boxes, which were about half as tall as Racetrack was. One of the orderlies took a key and opened a box, and roughly threw Racetrack in.

            "Enjoy your stay," he called, before slamming the door, and leaving Racetrack in utter darkness.

            Considering how small this new cell was, Racetrack was incapable of getting comfortable.  He couldn't stand, or move around at all.  He only had enough room to stay curled up in a ball, with him head bowed and his arms around his knees.  The only light and air came from a few small holes in the door.

            There was nothing in the cell which could distract him.  He was totally alone, left with just his thoughts.  But Racetrack didn't want to think right now.  He didn't want to think about what he and Tag had done, and about his own fears.  What he wanted to do was sleep.

            Race tried to make himself comfortable, and found it incredibly difficult.  But finally, he managed to get into a position where he wasn't in constant pain, and closed his eyes.  Just then, the cell lit up.  His eyes ached as they had to instantly adjust from the utter darkness to the blinding light that had permeated the corridor outside.  Accompanying the light was a shrill, piercing beeping.

The shrillness of the sound and the brightness of the lights caused his head to ache, and he couldn't block them out even when he closed his eyes and covered his ears.  No matter what he did, he couldn't block it out. 

            Racetrack sighed, and settled himself for a long sleepless night.  He knew he would never make it to sleep, but there was nothing to do in this cell.  He barely had enough room to move, and he had no cards to distract him.  All he could do was try not to cry out from the constant assault on his senses.

            After what seemed like forever, although it could have been as short as five minutes or as long as a day, the sounds and light stopped, leaving him immersed once again in darkness and silence, which felt just as wrong and foreign as the lights and sound had felt.

            Even though the darkness came as a partial relief, since his head no longer hurt, it had the side effect of leaving him alone with his thoughts.  With his fears.  With the realization that he was stuck in a cell, and he had no way of knowing what was going on outside, and he was going to be stuck there until he died.  That his secret had finally been truly discovered.  That Spot or the others weren't coming to get him.  Jack certainly wouldn't come, he'd left him once before.  And even if Spot did come, which he doubted more and more as time passed, it would never be the same, because he had betrayed Spot.

            And to make it even worse, he had no way of knowing how much time had passed.  He didn't know anything.  He was completely cut off from the outside world.  It was only him, and the darkness and his thoughts.  Just before he thought he would lose control completely, the darkness melted away, and was replaced by the blinding light again.

            Racetrack shut his eyes, letting out a small moan as the light assaulted him.  He was so used to the darkness now, that the change was overwhelming.  And when the noise began to assault his ears, he began to scream, trying to drown it out, even though the sound of his own voice only added to the pain he was in.  He just wanted everything to go away, and everything to stop.  He wanted to be home, safe in Manhattan, after a day in Brooklyn.

            The last thing he remembered was saying Spot's name, before he completely shut out the world around him.  It wouldn't matter anymore.  Nothing mattered.  He had lost.

Author's Note – I know, I took two whole months to update this.  I'm so sorry, but writers block and work, and real life kind of got in the way.  But, I've been looking forward to writing the next part of the fic since I started it! In fact, the next part is why I wanted to write this in the first place!  Next up, we find out exactly how real this is. grins

Chapter title comes from the show "Bare" which everyone should see, because it's awesome, and stars Aaron Lohr.

Many thanks to Signpost and Glimmer for talking me through the corner I had written myself into, and a very happy birthday to B, who also rules for beta reading this and making me fix the ending.

Shoutouts!

B-Screwing around with Race isn't torture.  It's fun.  But what happens next… that's the torture part.  Poor Tag. huggles him  Putting characters into situations where they really need a hug is a fandom trend, you're right about that.  Because abusing the pretty? Yeah, way too much fun.  See you on Thursday! loves

Gothica-You scare me.  And we need to work on our secret project o'doom more. Because we are awesome.

Dreamer-I'm glad you're glad that Race got some action.  Because… he's not really in position to get any now.

Nani-Yep!  Because really, they should have both known better.

Madison Square-I'm not telling about Race being insane or not.  But after this chapter, I'll say that he's certainly not in his right mind at the moment anyway!

Cici-I don't know if Spot would be heartbroken as much as pissed off, but you'll have to see!

Sock-free-Yeah, well, Race is always in trouble when I right him. Because I like torturing him.

Glimmer-Race is not a slut! Not in this fic anyway.  He just… needed to hook up with someone to make up for everything I've done to him.  Hope you liked your appearance in this chapter.

Shot Hunter-Race and Tag are adorable… but I still love SpRace much more. grin

Thistle-grins I'm glad everyone approves of the boy getting some action.  And Tag is adorable… but not really _right_ for Race.

Rumor-Race is always mad at me! I really don't know why he is… I mean, just because torturing him is my hobby….

Til next time!

TSB


	11. What I Did For Love

Shades of Grey

Chapter 11-What I Did For Love

Spot Conlon was frustrated. This was, in general, not a very good thing for anyone. When Spot was frustrated, it was best to get out of his way until he had worked out whatever it was that was making him angry, or you were liable to end up with a busted head. Although, that usually had the side effect of helping Spot work out his frustrations. So really, it was just best not to be the first (or second, or third) person to accidentally cross his path when he was in one of his moods.

This time though, the mood had lasted for nearly two weeks. Ever since Racetrack Higgins had disappeared somewhere in Brooklyn. Spot would have been frustrated if any of his boys had disappeared, but this was a special case. Technically, the short gambler wasn't one of the Brooklyn newsies. He lived in Manhattan, only traveling to Brooklyn to sell at the races. He spent a lot of time in Brooklyn because of that, although that wasn't the only reason why he spent so much time there. Racetrack may not be a Brooklyn boy, but he was _Spot's_ boy. And Spot actually _cared_ about Racetrack, something that, until now, very few people had realized. The two of them were known to be friends, and they got along well enough. Racetrack was one of the few, if not the only one, who could get in Spot's way while he was frustrated, and emerge unscathed. Well, mostly. He was seen walking funny after one occasion where he'd gone out back with Spot in an attempt to get him to calm down. But Racetrack wasn't here now to do that, and Spot's frustration levels had only increased as the day's passed.

Because, as much as Spot had hated to admit it to anyone, even to himself, he actually _loved_ Race. And now Race was missing.

They hadn't even realized he was missing for nearly a day. The Manhattan boys had just assumed that Racetrack had stayed in Brooklyn overnight, which happened every now and then. But then he hadn't returned to the lodging house that night either, which caused Jack some concern. But still, this wasn't unheard of. The second night he didn't come back to Manhattan, Jack finally decided to check in, and had sent a messenger to Brooklyn to find out where Racetrack was. Swifty had returned hours later, along with a black eye, a lot of bruises and one very furious Spot Conlon.

When people took the time to think about it, after the confrontation was over, it was universally agreed upon that nobody could remember Spot Conlon being this angry. Not during the strike when Jack had turned scab. Not when he'd fought Risk for control of Brooklyn. The pure unadulterated anger in his eyes was enough that Jack flinched back in fear. While he had always claimed that Spot didn't make him nervous, seeing Spot then was enough to make him tremble at Spot's name for months to come.

Spot wasn't that physically an imposing figure, but he'd always had this aura around him that made up for his lack of bulk. Just by looking at Spot, one could easily tell that he was a force to be reckoned with, and he wasn't the type of person you'd like to meet alone in a back alley. And that was when Spot was in a _good_ mood.

Jack could have sworn that Spot literally grew a foot as crossed the front room of the Duane Street lodging house. Jack was already beating himself up about not being more worried about Racetrack, and letting so much time pass before he sent out a messenger. The state of Swifty's face only made him more upset. Now one of his boys was injured and another was... well, who knew where Racetrack was? And on top of all that, Jack now had an utterly furious Spot Conlon to contend with.

Even though Jack physically towered over Spot, he shrank back from the look in Spot's eyes. He honestly hadn't thought that he could feel any worse. First, he'd failed his boys with the strike. And now he'd failed them again by not looking out for Racetrack.

Spot didn't pause when he reached Jack. He just punched him straight in the jaw.

Jack fell back, rubbing his jaw. "Look, Spot," he began, but Spot cut him off.

"I'm going to fucking _kill_ you, Jack," Spot began without preamble. "How the fuck do you not check to see why one of your newsies didn't come back _two nights in a row_?"

Spot continued to advance, and Jack unconsciously took a step back, feeling more and more nervous. He knew better than to cross Spot, and he remembered how many guys it had taken to hold Spot back when he'd found out that Jack had gone scab. He eyed the cane that hung on Spot's belt, not wanting to be on the receiving end of one of it's blows. Spot never missed his target, and he was nearly invincible when he had his cane.

"Look, Spot, I know that you're worried about Race, but he ain't really your concern..." Jack trailed off, when Spot's eyes narrowed dangerously. That had definitely been the wrong thing to say.

"Not my concern, Jacky-boy?" Spot was no longer shouting, but if anything, that just made Jack more nervous. "Race and I, we... we go way back. And he could be _dead_ and you don't think it's my concern?"

The cane struck before Jack saw it coming. The blow hurt just as much as he was expecting it to, and Jack fell to the floor, clutching his side in agony. He brought his hands up, trying to brace himself against the expected follow up blow, but it never came.

He looked up, and found Spot brandishing the cane menacingly. "If anything happened to him, I'll make you regret it." Jack could tell that it wasn't a threat, it was a promise.

The next day, there were very few people selling in either Brooklyn or Manhattan. Racetrack was one of the better known newsies, and news of his disappearance spread quickly across the city. Spot had organized his boys into teams, and they were scouring the path between the Brooklyn and Manhattan lodging houses, trying to find any clue of what could have happened to Racetrack. The Manhattan boys were searching all of Racetrack's usual haunts, as well as the refuge, but when night fell, nobody had caught any sign of him. And none of the headlines in the papes had said anything about the corpse of an unidentified newsboy being found. Blink and Skittery had gotten into a fight with the Delancey brothers, but they didn't know anything either.

This led to a very large group of disappointed boys that night, and a few of them had made the mistake of finding their way into Spot's path, which just meant that they ended up as targets. Jack was still nursing his injured ribs, and was glad that Spot hadn't hurt him worse.

As days passed, and there was still no sign of Racetrack, the amount of people searching for him decreased. The newsies could only go so long without selling, and most of them had used up the few savings that they had during the strike. This only served to increase Spot's frustration, and he grew more and more difficult to be around day by day. Spot had almost completely quit selling, totally focused on the search for Racetrack. When he wasn't searching, he sold a few papers at some of the better selling spots in Brooklyn, or was at the docks, organizing the remaining searchers. Only a few core searchers still remained, hoping to find a hint of their missing friend. But nearly a week had passed before Blink had come running into Brooklyn, pale as a ghost, searching for Spot.

"What?" Spot snapped at him, from his seat on the docks. He wasn't really in the mood for bad news at the moment.

"Racetrack," Blink gasped out. "I saw him. On the bridge. But then he wasn't there anymore."

Spot sprang to his feet. "You saw him? Why didn't you bring him back here?" The urgency in his voice came as a shock to him. Until Racetrack had disappeared, he hadn't completely realized how much he actually cared about his boyfriend. He'd told Race that, but not knowing if his lover was safe or not was causing him panic. He'd thought that nothing could ever be as important to him as Brooklyn was, and keeping control, but at the moment, he'd have given anything to know that Racetrack was safe, and with him where he belonged.

"He just..." Blink trailed off, and he shrugged. "I don't know Spot, it was like he was there, but then he wasn't. And he didn't seem to recognize me. He was kinda hard to see too..."

Spot leapt forward and grabbed Blink by the collar. "Take me to him," he demanded harshly. All rational thoughts had left his mind, and he was concentrated solely on finding Race.

"But, he's _gone_ Spot," Blink said nervously, not wanting to end up like the others who had made the mistake of giving Spot bad news had. "I'm telling you, he just disappeared."

"You can't just disappear," Spot snapped. "Show me where you saw him!"

Blink flinched back from Spot's tone, not willing to risk angering the volatile Brooklyn leader any further. He mutely led Spot onto the Brooklyn Bridge, stopping about halfway across, and motioned to one of the supports.

"Well?" Spot demanded irritably.

"He was right there," Blink said quietly. "But... he was inside it, sorta."

Spot stared at him. "Are you out of your mind? How could he be inside there?"

Blink shrugged. "It was just... it started to glow, and I saw Race, and he looked real bad, Spot. Like someone had just soaked him. And I tried to talk to him, even mentioned that you were freaking out, but it was like he didn't hear me or somethin'. And then he disappeared, and the weird light went away."

"That ain't possible, Blink," Spot informed him. "You been drinking again?"

"No, I ain't had any. I swear Spot, that's what happened! You gotta believe me." Blink's voice was shaking, but he still radiated an aura of honesty. He was, as far as Spot could tell, telling the truth. But what he was saying was impossible as far as Spot knew.

"All right Blink," Spot said finally, after pausing to consider it. "You go find Jack and everyone else who is still searching, and tell them that we're going to start watching this spot. See if anyone else catches sight of Racetrack around here."

"You believe me, don't you Spot?" Blink asked desperately.

"If there's even a chance that you're telling the truth, and Race is stuck in there somehow..." Spot sighed, not even able to finish the thought. He couldn't bear the idea that Racetrack was stuck so far, yet so close. He had to be able to get _his_ Racetrack back. Spot needed to see Racetrack's grin while he lay in Spot's arms. He wanted to hold Race while he slept. Six months ago, before their relationship had started, Spot would never have thought that he could be tender or loving. But the thought of hurting Race, or of anyone hurting Race, horrified him beyond belief. He just _wanted_ Racetrack to be back, to be safe. It had been far too long since he'd seen Racetrack, since he'd heard the sound of his voice, and Spot was in serious withdrawal.

He headed back to Brooklyn to try to sell what few papers he had bought that day, trapped in his own thoughts. This wasn't like him. He was supposed to be the leader of Brooklyn, but now all he was doing was caring about a Manhattan newsie. He hadn't been paying attention to his boys since news of Racetrack's disappearance had reached him. He _should_ be concentrating on Brooklyn. It was his job as the leader. But somehow Brooklyn seemed far less important than Racetrack was. And Spot didn't know what that meant for him in the future. It didn't matter though, he would figure it out later. Once Racetrack was safe.

The days continued to pass, and slowly everyone went back to selling. Most of the newsies had given Racetrack up for dead. Still, a few of them clung to hope, and every day someone was watching that one particular spot on the Brooklyn Bridge, hoping against hope that they'd be able to see some sign of Racetrack. Spot was selling in Brooklyn by himself at the edge of the bridge. Nobody was willing to sell near him since he had grown more and more frustrated as everyone else had given up hope. While he needed to believe that Racetrack would be fine, it was growing harder and harder to believe that.

Which was why it was so unexpected when Mush came running towards him, urgently shouting his name.

"What?" Spot demanded, clenching his fists. If this was more bad news... Spot really didn't know what he'd do.

"Come quick," Mush gasped out. "Something's happening. It's _glowing_."

Spot dropped what few papers he had left, and ran down the bridge. He found Jack and Blink already there. They were staring at a low glow that had surrounded the support beam. Something in the air felt different there, and a low hum was emanating from the beam itself.

"I'm going in," Spot announced, the sound of his voice surprising even himself.

"Not without me you're not," Jack snapped. "Racetrack is one of my best friends, and he's one of my boys, not yours Spot. If anyone is going to go after him, it's going to be me."

"Fine," Spot said shortly. "You can come along." He turned to Blink and Mush. "One of you wait here. The other go tell everyone what's going on."

Mush nodded, and turned towards Manhattan.

"Let's go, Jacky-boy," Spot snapped. Taking a deep breath, he walked towards the pillar, and was soon enveloped by the glow.

Author's Notes: I swear, I haven't abandoned Save the Last Dance For Me. But I've been waiting to write this chapter (and the next one) since I started the fic.... So Last Dance can wait. Many thanks to B for the beta.

Chapter title is a song from A Chorus Line, which is one of the most awesome shows ever.

Next chapter - Spot and Jack. At the asylum.

Shoutouts!

B-Race is just too much fun to beat up. And it's not _that_ unhealthy. Seriously. And pout We can't do a countdown til we visit anymore. But, its just a few weeks til we start school again! Yay!

Repeat-I'm so not telling if Racetrack is crazy or not. Not yet anyway. And Tag needs a hug. He definitely will after he meets Spot anyway... MWAHAHAHAH.

Aura-At least this was a bit quicker than last time... And it's not my fault that Racetrack is just so easy to abuse!

Koodles-I like plot twists. Race doesn't like them, because most of them end with him being beaten though...

Dreamer-blush wow, I'm glad that its making you think.

Glimm-Writers block needs to be destroyed. But I'm trying the 500 words a day thing, and it seems to be working so far...

Thistle-Well, you wanted a rescue attempt...attempt being the key word. ;)

Shakespearean Fool-laughs Secretly, this fic is based off a Buffy episode. And I like strange alternate universes, and there just aren't enough of them...

Til next time

TSB


	12. Kids in the Hall

Shades of Grey

Chapter 12-Kids in the Hall

When the glow had finally vanished, Spot removed the arm that he had been using to shield his eyes from the blinding light that had enveloped him and Jack on the bridge. He blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to clear his vision. When the spots finally faded, Spot glanced over at Jack, who was leaning against the wall, breathing heavily. Taking a look around, he saw that they were in a hallway, with lamps swinging overhead, spread out so that they only cast a dim glow over the passageway. Barred doors were positioned evenly along the corridor. Spot heard low moans emanating from a few of them.

Spot motioned for Jack to follow him, and they started down the long corridor. They stopped at every room, peering through each entry grill, trying to catch a glimpse of Racetrack. As they checked room after room without any sign of their missing friend, the two newsies grew more and more frustrated.

Finally, Jack opened his big mouth and began to call Racetrack's name. Spot ran over and punched him in the stomach, then forcibly covered Jack's mouth with his hand.

"You bum!" Spot cried. "Don't you realize this has gotta be something like the refuge? There's people locked up everywhere. Drawing attention to Race will only get him hurt, or us caught."

Spot almost felt bad for yelling at Jack, considering that he'd been thinking about doing the same thing himself, only stopping because he had more brains than Jack did. Which really wasn't Jack's fault, he _was_ a Manhattan newsie after all, and most of the Manhattan boys didn't have enough brains to come up with a decent headline. Except Racetrack, of course. But Racetrack wasn't really a Manhattan boy. He was _Spot's_ boy.

Then again, Jack also hadn't _cared_ for nearly two days that Racetrack had vanished, so Spot really didn't feel _that_ much guilt.

"Oh," Jack muttered, hang his head in shame. "I didn't think-"

"No, you _didn't_," Spot snapped. He was about to continue with another rant when there was a gasp from the cell behind them.

Spot and Jack whirled around, and glanced into the cells. A boy with curly brown hair and bruises covering his face looked back at them.

"You were looking for Racetrack?" the boy asked hesitantly.

Spot looked the boy over and didn't think he was going to be that much of a threat. A potential useful bit of information, but not actually dangerous in anyway. The boy looked terrified of them, and Spot had had a lot of practice over the years taken advantage of that.

"Yeah, we are. You seen him?" he asked, his tone giving away the fact that he expected full cooperation out of the guy, or he would be made to regret it.

The guy flinched backwards, scared of the anger in Spot's tone.

"Yes," he whispered hesitantly.

"Well, where _is_ he?" Spot's voice got louder with each syllable.

"They... they took him."

Spot was, by this point, just about ready to rip the bars off the door and beat the information out of the boy himself, when Jack put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Can you _try_ to remain in control?" he hissed. "I'm just as worried about Race as you are, but scaring off our source of information won't help any!"

"Fuck off," Spot replied, pushing Jack's hand away. He turned his attention back to the boy in the cell.

"Who took him, and why?"

The boy flushed, and moved away from the door. Spot sprang forward, reached through the bar, and grabbed the boy's shirt. "Don't you _dare_ run away from me."

The boy began to stammer nonsense, and Spot was growing frustrated very quickly. They were so close to finding Racetrack, but this_ bum_ was standing in the way.

He spared a glance at Jack, who was looking at the kid with what resembled pity. "Come on, Spot," Jack muttered. "He ain't gonna help us find Race."

As much as Spot hated to admit it, Jack was right. The coward was too busy fighting off tears to be of any real use to them. He released the boy, and started towards the next cell, when he heard a mumbled, "Spot?" coming from the boy, with definite recognition in the tone.

Spot returned quickly to the cell, but the boy was far away from the door, and was instead cowering in the corner.

Spot mumbled a curse under his breath, and continued to check the cells further down the hall. They had only progressed down another few doorways, when they heard girlish laughter coming from one of the cells. A hand reached through the bars and beckoned them forward.

"You boys looking for Racey-poo?" a voice purred from inside.

"We're looking for Race_track_," Spot snapped, going over to the cell. "Look girly..." he trailed off as he caught a glimpse of the very _male_ figure inside the cell.

"Name's Candy, Sugarplum. And you _are_ cute. Make's a girl understand why Racey would be with Tag instead of me." He (or she, Spot wasn't entirely sure at this point) thrust out a hip and pouted. "Still, it's a shame when a boy likes boys more than a lovely sweet southern gal like me."

"Who's Tag?" Spot demanded, trying to keep his voice steady. But the thought that Race would be with someone else hurt him in a way that he hadn't thought was possible.

"Well, _that_ explains a lot," Jack muttered from behind him.

"Why, the boy you were talking to before. He and Racey got in a rather _compromising_ position, and now Race is all in Iso. Probably crazy. Or more crazy then he was. Believing that he was a _newsie_, of all things."

Candy seemed to take their lack of response as an incentive to continue. "Such a shame. He was so cute too."

"You're lying," Spot said quietly. Race couldn't... he _wouldn't_ cheat like that.

"That's right!" Jack added. "Race is a newsie. Just like us."

Candy's face went blank for a moment, and when he spoke again, his entire tone had changed. "You're a newsie, eh? I haven't seen one of those since I was a boy. Except for that Racetrack fellow, and it's a real shame what happened to him."

"How do we find Racetrack?" Spot demanded.

"Seems to me that you'll have a real problem, sonny. He's in Iso now, and Nurse Snyder and the doctor guard that location rather carefully. Only someone who's been there knows where it is... and most people don't come back. And those who do, well, they usually come out wrong."

"Look Candy," Jack said, trying to be the more diplomatic one. "Is there anyone who can tell us?"

"Candy? Who is that? The name's Walter, but you can call me Walt. And the best person would probably be Pitch, she's the only one we know who actually _survived_ Iso. But she isn't really talking much about it."

"Well, where is this _Pitch_?" Spot demanded.

"Two doors to the right, across the hall," Candy, or Walt, or whatever he was calling himself answered.

Spot immediately turned and headed for the indicated doorway.

"Pitch," he demanded harshly. "Where is this Iso? Where is Racetrack?"

A girl appeared at the doorway. "He's probably dead by now," she said bluntly. "Or at least, there won't be much of him left. You're wasting your time, you should just give up."

"Newsies don't abandon their own," Jack informed her.

"So he was telling the truth? He really is a newsie?"

"What else would he be?"

"But... there aren't any newsies."

"Then what the hell are we?" Spot snapped. "Tell me where Race is."

"He's been in Iso for nearly three days," Pitch pointed out.

"All the more reason to bust him out _now_."

"It won't do you any good."

"But we've got to try anyway," Jack pointed out. "Race is our friend. And to Spot, well..." he glanced over at Spot, who ignored Jack.

"Where _is_ he?"

"I told you, he's in Iso."

"And where is that?"

"You'll never get there," Pitch laughed. "And even if you could, there's really no point. There won't be any of your friend – or whatever he is – left."

"We'll be the judge of that."

"Look, Pitch," Jack butted in. "Race would do the same for any of us. We aren't going to leave him _here_."

"And what about you?" Pitch asked, turning to Spot. "Do you consider him a friend as well?"

"What Race is to me doesn't matter to you," Spot growled out.

"Tag said that Anthony had a boyfriend back home. Are you the boyfriend?"

Spot didn't answer, and Pitch seemed to take that as a confirmation.

"Iso is through the doctor's office, all the way down at the end of the corridor. But you either need a key to get in, or someone from the inside needs to buzz you in."

"Who has the key?"

"The orderlies. They'll be here in a little while to send us to breakfast."

"Fine. So we wait."

"Thanks for the help, Pitch," Jack said, flashing his brightest smile.

"Whatever," she muttered.

Jack and Spot headed back down the corridor, Spot heading straight for the cell that housed Tag. The boy that Race had been with.

"So are you?" Jack asked.

"Am I _what_?"

"With Racetrack like I'm with Sarah."

"It's not your business."

"Race's one of my boys, so yeah, it's my business."

"He's _my_..." Spot paused.

"'M not gonna tell anyone. I wouldn't do that to Race. Or to you."

"If you do, I'll soak ya."

It was the closest Spot could come to admitting out loud how he felt about Race. He hadn't even said it to Racetrack yet, but he'd always known that Race understood.

Spot paused outside of Tag's cell. "You," he hissed through the grill. "Get over here."

Tag inched forward, but stayed well away from the grill.

"You. And Racetrack." The harshness in Spot's tone surprised him.

"Don't be angry, please... you don't understand. He thought that he was hallucinating everything. But when we woke up, he was really upset. Please, if they hadn't just tortured us – "

"What do you _mean_ tortured?" Jack and Spot demanded at once.

"They were... please, stop looking at me like that."

Spot looked disgusted. He had no idea what Race had seen in this cowering piece of shit.

"I'm sorry," Tag whispered. "Please, just don't yell at me."

"Racetrack wasted his time with _you_?" Jack asked.

Tag blushed. "I... I... please, stop that."

"They're going to open those doors soon," Spot said quietly. "And when they do, I'm going to make you regret every single thing you and Race did."

Tag ran back to the corner and hid.

Spot rolled his eyes, and threw a punch into the wall. This was getting to be ridiculous.

He settled down on the floor outside of Tag's cell, and Jack took a seat next to him.

"So you and Race," Jack said finally. "When were you two going to tell me about this?"

"You didn't need to know," Spot snapped. "It's between me and Race, and no one else."

"Race is one of my boys, so his business _is_ my business. So I'm going to ask you, what is he to you?"

"Shut up, Jacky boy," Spot snapped.

"If you hurt him," Jack warned, "Brooklyn or not, you'll regret it."

"I'm not going to hurt him. I'd never heard him," Spot swore. "Are you happy now?"

"If that's the best I'm going to get," Jack answered.

"It is."

_Author's Note-W00t! I updated! It's been a while, but not as long as last time. Anyway, since last update, two awesome things happened. First, I broke 100 reviews! throws a party And second, the asylum staff won best villain in Sapphy's fanfic contest. grins So, I'm excited._

_Anyway, updates should be way more frequent now that I have classes to write in. Since that's basically all my education class is good for._

_This chapter is dedicated to Parkranger, since it was her birthday recently! Next chapter will feature Racetrack. Maybe. If I get there. And many thanks to signpost and B for the beta._

Shoutouts!

B-I'm glad that the chapter title amused you. And you're right, Spot singing A Chorus Linewould be just a bit OOC, but still, amusing thought. And much angst will ensue soon enough, I mean, it's me!

Koodles-Well, now you know what the glowing things are. Or do you? And Spot would be very upset if you said he was cute.

Shakespearan Fool-blush I'm glad you're enjoying the fic. Hopefully, I'll get chapters out faster from now on.

Repeat-Well, Spot hasn't soaked Tag, yet. Soon though. Since Spot is _very_ over protective of his boy.

Parkranger-Happy birthday darling! I'm sorry I didn't get it out _on_ your birthday, but I'm still close. And there will be smut soon. I swear.

Leah-loves madly Hope you enjoyed the Multi love.

Eagle Higgins Conlon-I hope this lived up to your expectations. And Blink and Mush will show up again later.

Hepheastion-Spot is the bestest boyfriend ever. And he will be kicking ass.

Thistle-The rescue is in process. Stay tuned for more.

Lasplx-grins I'm glad you love. And Bare! Soon! Woo!!!!!!!! is so obsessed its not even funny

Til Next Time!

TSB


	13. Something Just Broke

Shades of Grey

Chapter 13 – Something Just Broke

For what felt like hours, Spot and Jack remained sitting outside of Tag's door, waiting for something to happen. Tag had retreated to the corner of his cell, and had refused to speak to either newsie at all. Most of the others along the corridor had eventually quieted down as well, although Candy had reappeared briefly.

Jack had given up on trying to get Spot to talk. He himself was still trying to process the events of the night. Jack had suspected that there was something more to Spot and Race than a typical friendship, but he'd never actually suspected that they were in a relationship, let alone that they loved each other. Jack hadn't even realized that Spot was capable of loving anyone.

But... as far as he could tell, Spot actually seemed to care about Racetrack, which surprised him. And he guessed that this was good for Race, but it wasn't as important as finding Race. And to do that, they needed to bust him out of the Iso place, whatever that was.

"Spot," he began, and then waited for a response.

He didn't get one. Spot was just ignoring him.

"Look, Spot, I was just thinking... the orderlies are going to be here soon. What's your plan?"

That got Spot's attention.

"Plan?" he asked, seemingly amused. "We go save Racetrack."

Jack stared. Spot was usually had a plan. A good plan, not whatever _this _was.

"Won't they see us?" he pointed out.

Spot paled. "We'll beat them," he repeated.

"But if we can't surprise them, how are we supposed to..." But Spot's glare shut him up.

Obviously, Spot was more distracted than Jack had realized. They needed to find Racetrack, and soon.

"That's not a plan," he pointed out.

"What part of _rescue_ Racetrack don't you understand?!" The sheer amount of frustration in Spot's voice was making Jack nervous. He counted on Spot to be the one that would be able to save the day, just like he knew he could count on David.

At the moment, Jack had a newfound respect for David. David was the brains, and ever since the strike Jack had been relying on David to help plan things out, and make things easier for the Manhattan boys, especially since Racetrack had disappeared.

David would have had a plan.

Of course, David also wasn't there. And Spot's plan... wasn't really that much of a plan.

* * *

Spot was kicking himself. He couldn't believe he'd let himself get so distracted so that he couldn't even see the obvious. They did need an element of surprise, and he'd completely ignored that fact. Even Jack, who was definitely not known for having any sort of brains had seen it. But Spot hadn't.

_The things Racetrack does to me_, he thought, a melancholy smile crossing his face momentarily.

Still though, he couldn't let himself be distracted by thoughts of Race. He needed to concentrate now, so that he could see Race.

Getting up, he started walking down the hall, looking for some sort of place that would enable them to adequately surprise the orderlies once they appeared. Jack followed him without a word. It only took a few moments before they passed a door that was different than many of the others – there were no bars on it. Spot tried the door, and it opened, leading into a supply closet.

"Get in," he snapped, and matched his actions to his words, pulling Jack into the closet and closing the door almost all the way.

"So you have a plan now?" Jack asked sarcastically.

"Shut up, Jacky."

"I was just _asking_," Jack sulked.

"When they show up," Spot said carefully, hoping that Jack would understand, "we surprise them."

"What if they call for help?"

"We hit them before then."

"But what if –"

"We hit them _hard_."

"But--"

"Shut up. I know what I'm doing."

Spot turned away from Jack and looked through the barely open door hoping to catch a glimpse of the orderlies.

"This isn't going to work," Jack muttered.

"Either shut up, or be useful," Spot snapped without glancing at Jack.

_Soon_, he thought. _They would have to get here soon_.

And he was quite right. Barely five minutes later, two huge hulking figures appeared. They were laughing, and started banging on the doors, seemingly trying to awaken the various captives.

Spot watched as they passed by, waiting for what would be the opportune moment to surprise the two brutes. He saw it as one of them pulled out a huge key ring, and began to unlock the door across from him. Swinging open the supply closet door, he slammed into the orderly, knocking him into the wall. The orderly collapsed into a heap, and Spot grabbed the keys.

Spot whirled around, just in time to see Jack take down the other one.

"Not bad," he commented.

"Thanks," Jack replied. "Now where do we go?"

"We find Racetrack," Spot replied.

"And he's where?"

"Fuck."

Spot had forgotten about that. Pitch had mentioned that Race was being held in some hidden location that only a few people knew about. In this Iso, or whatever it was.

He turned and headed down the corridor, and stopped in front of Pitch's cell.

"Pitch," Spot snapped. "Get up here."

"I'm not going to have any part of this," she replied, appearing at the window. "I've been through... through what Anthony is going through. I won't end up in there again."

"His name is _Racetrack_," Spot snarled. "And you are _going_ to help us."

"No, I'm really not, and you can't make me."

She walked away from the bars, and Spot cursed in frustration. He wanted nothing more than to hit something, preferably one of Racetrack's captors. Really, this Pitch would qualify, if he hit girls. Which Spot didn't. Still...

He began to try various keys on her door, cursing under his breath as none of them worked.

"Let me try," Jack offered.

"I've _got_ it," Spot said through clenched teeth.

"I was just offering," Jack pouted.

"Well, you didn't have to," Spot snapped, as he finally managed to find the right key, and the door swung open.

Spot stalked into the cell, and grabbed Pitch by the shoulders. "You and I are going to have a little talk," he told her firmly. "And you're going to help me, or I'm going to make you wish you'd never been born."

"It's a bit too late for that," she answered mournfully.

"Look girly," Spot snarled. "I'm not going to leave Racetrack to be _tortured_."

"He's probably already broken, don't you understand?"

Spot shook her harshly, and she flinched.

"Spot," Jack shouted. "Don't, she's scared!"

Spot released Pitch, who ran to go cower in the corner, and whirled around to face Jack. "She knows where they're keeping Race. And that's really all I care about right now."

"Please," Pitch whimpered. "Please, it wouldn't make a difference anyway. And I _can't_ help you, I just can't."

"Why the hell not?" Spot turned his attention back to her, and softened slightly when he saw the tears staining her cheeks.

"You don't understand," she choked out. "It... I _can't_."

Jack stepped past Spot, and knelt besides her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We're just trying to save our friend," he told her quietly, with a pleading quality to his voice that Spot didn't know Jack could have. Jack had always prided himself on being a charmer, but this was overkill. Although if it worked, Spot really didn't care.

"He won't still be your friend," she replied, her voice a bit steadier. "Iso... it destroys you."

"You survived it," Jack pointed out.

"No, I didn't."

"What do you mean?" Spot interjected. "You're right here, talking to us."

"But I'm not... I'm not like I was. Before... I was a leader here. And now... please, every time I even think about going against them..." she trailed off, and buried her head in her hands.

"But if you help us, then maybe Race won't end up like that. Please, Pitch. Help us."

To Spot, the pleading quality in Jack's voice was utterly ridiculous. But it seemed to affect Pitch, who winced visibly.

"Why do you care so much?" she asked. "What is he to you anyway?"

"I told you," Jack replied. "He's our friend."

"That's what he is to you. But you aren't the one I'm talking to."

She stared at Spot, giving him a silent challenge.

"That's none of your fucking business."

"Are you the boyfriend Anthony mentioned?" When Spot still didn't answer, she continued. "I'm not going to help you unless you answer me."

"Yes," Spot finally spat out. "Satisfied?"

"Do you love him?" She paused when she saw the look on Spot's face. "I... I need to know."

Spot opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn't bring himself to answer. He wouldn't.... he _couldn't_ deny that he loved Racetrack more than anything. Maybe even more than Brooklyn, which was a thought that terrified him. He hadn't thought that anything would replace Brooklyn in his heart. But when Racetrack had disappeared, all thoughts of running Brooklyn had vanished, and had been replaced by thoughts of Race.

Yet he still couldn't bring himself to actually say how he felt about Racetrack out loud, especially to someone who wasn't Race.

But if this was what it would take to save Racetrack...

"Yes," he said through gritted teeth. "I do."

A single tear ran down her cheek. "I guess... I guess I can try."

"Thank you," Jack said, pulling Pitch to her feet and giving her a hug.

"I can't promise anything," she told them. "I can't... I can't go near there. But I can tell you where it is and what to expect when you find him."

"Why are you helping us?" Spot asked more harshly than he had expected.

"You love him," she answered simply. "That's more than most people have."

Pitch walked them out into the hallway, and pointed towards the direction that the orderlies had come from.

"That's where the Doctor's office is. Once you get in, you'll see a side door - that leads to the isolation ward. Anthony... _Racetrack_ will either be in one of those cells or in the reconditioning ward, which is even further down that corridor. If he'd been moved to the reconditioning ward... you may never get Racetrack back. That's... that's where they sent me."

"Thank you," Jack told her.

She smiled, and blinked back tears. "Good... good luck. You'll need it."

Pitch retreated back into her cell, and the two newsies started down in the direction that they'd been pointed in, but Spot stopped after a few steps, and turned around, heading towards Tag's cell.

"Spot, what are you..." Jack trailed off.

Spot unlocked the cell, and took a few steps in. Tag was huddling in the back of the cell, and looked up at Spot with pleading eyes. "Please," he whispered. "Please don't hurt me."

Spot continued to advance, not entirely sure what he wanted to do. Beating the crap out of Tag would probably make him feel better, but there was something fundamentally wrong in hitting him. It would almost be like hitting a _girl_.

"Fuck. You're not worth it," he muttered.

Tag flinched back from Spot's words, and Spot turned and stalked out of the cell.

"C'mon," he muttered. "Let's go find Racetrack."

* * *

Spot and Jack had found the doctor's office without any issue, and managed to get through into the isolation ward. They checked cell after cell, and found no trace of Racetrack anywhere. As time passed with no sign of him, they grew more and more nervous and frustrated. Spot was beginning to wonder if there was anyway at all that they could possibly find him.

Finally, they reached the last doorway. Spot inserted the key, and opened the door. He could hear faint screaming from a very familiar voice from somewhere close by.

_Racetrack_.

Spot's eyes narrowed, and he broke into a run, Jack following close behind. Nobody treated Racetrack that way. _Nobody_.

They followed the sounds until the noise faded away, and Spot could make out individual words. It was definitely Race's voice, but the words coming out of his mouth were entirely foreign to him.

Racetrack was _begging_.

The sound of Racetrack, who was usually so calm, so confident _begging_ caused Spot to freeze in his tracks. This wasn't... Racetrack couldn't have actually broken. There was no way that Pitch had actually been right.

No... Spot kept going forward, narrowing his eyes. He was so close to finding Racetrack now, and he wasn't going to stop. If the worst had happened, he would just have to bring Race back. He _would_ bring Racetrack back.

Spot motioned Jack forward, and they looked into the last door. A man and a woman were standing over a hunched figure, and Spot caught his first glimpse of Racetrack.

Race was sitting on the ground, his hands clutching his knees, legs pulled up to his chest. He looked thin, worn and ragged. His knuckles were bruised and bloody, and there were faint bruises covering him. His eyes were haunted, and he was slowly shaking back and forth.

The man was speaking, and it took a moment for Spot to understand what he was saying, but the words filled him with horror.

"What friends do you have?" the man asked.

Racetrack raised his head, and stared right at the man, his eyes blank. "I... I don't have any."

The man _beamed_ at him. "What about Jack Kelly?" he asked.

Racetrack started rocking back and forth again. "Please," he whispered. "Please don't..."

The woman went over and pressed a button on the wall, and Racetrack flinched back in seeming agony, although Spot couldn't figure out what it was that was hurting him.

Race was gasping now.

"Unless you want another shock, you will answer the question, Anthony," the man said.

"Please, no more," Racetrack begged again.

"Jack Kelly is not real," the man said. "Now who is Jack Kelly to you?"

Jack took a deep breath, and gasped audibly when he heard Racetrack speak in a tiny voice, seemingly terrified.

"He isn't real. He's not my friend. Friends don't leave you."

"And what about Spot Conlon?"

Spot clenched his fists, and took a step forward. He didn't know if he could bear to hear Racetrack say he wasn't real.

Then Racetrack began to speak.

* * *

Author's note: I am an evil bitch. And guess what, I'm not updating again until after nano. Enjoy the next month!__

_Many many thanks to B for helping fix the rhythm of the jokes, and putting up with my freakouts about this chapter (and fixing the dialogue, and the ending, and generally just being an awesome person) loves madly_

_Also, Shades won awards in Lutes fanfic contest! loves to Lute_

_And seriously, next chapter will feature Racetrack's answer, and maybe even a rescue._

_Shout-outs!_

_Shakespearean Fool-Glad you approved of the timing, and I hope you won't be too sad with this cliffie... I'm glad you liked it!_

_Rina-afsdjkk;aldsfjkl;asjfdk;asdjfk Now I have a horrible idea for a captain planet/newsies fic. This is your fault. (And the smut is coming, stop panicking :-p)_

_Aura-poor little tag needs a hug. And Spot didn't really hurt him..._

_Rachel-Mush isn't going to be doing much saving in this one, I'm afraid. And as for them being stuck, well.... Just wait._

_B-Thank you for letting me abuse Tag. And encouraging me to abuse Race. And being awesome. loves_

_Rumor (Three times! W00t!)-I missed you, and I'm so glad that you're back now! And I'm glad that you're enjoying, because that makes me quite happy._

_Saturday-Hi! Your reviews are always so awesome, I seriously did a little dance when I saw you'd read this. And I'm glad you enjoy what little humor is in this, because yeah, I like the angst. A whole lot._

_Iambic Pentameter-I made SpRace your OTP? boggles Wow. That's like... the most awesome compliment ever. Thank you!_

_Til next time!_

_TSB_


	14. Come Save Me

Shades of Grey

Chapter 14-Come Save Me

"And what about Spot Conlon?"

Spot clenched his fists, and took a step forward. He didn't know if he could bear to hear Racetrack say he wasn't real.

Then Racetrack began to speak.

"I…" Racetrack began, and he swallowed hard. "I…"

"Answer the question, Mr. Higgins."

"Please," Racetrack begged. "I…. he can't…"

Spot decided not to wait for the answer. The fact that Racetrack was still protesting, even after he had given up on Jack… that had to be enough. It meant something, and Spot didn't want to see Racetrack suffer anymore. He glanced over at Jack, who was still staring at Racetrack in horror.

"Now, Jack," Spot hissed, and he took a step into the hallway and rushed at the man who was hovering over the shaking Racetrack, and threw a punch straight at his jaw.

The bastard was knocked back a few steps, and Spot advanced in on him, fists up, prepared to fight. Jack had hesitated just a second, but he followed Spot in, and stood glaring at the nurse.

Spot knew that Jack didn't want to hit her. She was a _girl_, and none of the newsies were that type. That was below the newsies, it was practically… Delancey brothers level. Still, if it came down to that, and she was between them and Racetrack…

"Move," Spot informed her, as he went to kneel down before his shaking boyfriend. "Get out of here."

"Who do you think you _are_?" the woman hissed at them.

"We're getting Racetrack outta here," Spot informed her, getting to his feet. Racetrack hadn't acknowledged his touch at all; he was still sitting there, staring straight ahead, and rocking back and forth.

"_Anthony_ is confined here in isolation because he is a danger to himself and to others. I do not appreciate you interfering with his treatment."

Spot just glared at her, and almost gained some respect for the woman when she didn't flinch back from his stare. But there wasn't anything that she could do that would make up for what she and the others had done to Racetrack.

Spot took a step forward, but the woman remained in place.

"We're taking _Racetrack_ with us," Spot said as soon as she finished speaking. "And you are going to get the hell out of my way, right now."

Spot clenched his fists, and silently hoped that she would move. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jack sit down besides Racetrack, speaking quietly, still with no effect.

"He doesn't want to leave," the woman responded. "So I don't think that you should push the matter."

Spot could tell that she was getting a bit more nervous. He was glad that they had taken out those guards on their way in; he assumed that she was just stalling for time expecting that those guards would show up any moment. But he'd already taken care of that.

And to think Jack had insulted his plan…

Clenching his fists, he just glared at her. "We're taking him," he said finally. "And girl or not, you aren't going to stop us."

"Woman," she corrected. "And you are not removing my patient."

Spot sneered, and stepped forward, and threw a punch.

She crumbled to the floor in a heap.

Now that she had been taken care of, Spot finally had time to look around the room. It was tiny, stark, and white. Spot couldn't imagine what sort of horrors Race had been subjected to while he'd been locked up in here. Spot couldn't imagine having been confined like this… he was so used to having the freedom to go as he pleased that the mere idea of being stuck in such a tiny room for what he could only guess was days terrified him. And he hated to be scared of anything.

He finally turned his attention back to Racetrack, who was huddling in the corner, with Jack kneeling down next to him.

Racetrack looked horrible.

Spot had honestly never seen anyone look this bad and still be alive. And he'd seen a lot of beatings in his time as a Brooklyn newsie, and he'd been the cause of quite a few of them. And everyone who had been in as bad a condition as Racetrack was in now had died afterwards.

Racetrack was pale, almost ghostly, and his frame was almost skeletal. There were deep circles under his eyes, and the smell emanating from him… it almost made Spot think twice about moving closer to him.

Almost.

Moving to be closer to Racetrack, he knelt down so that he was next to him and examined his boyfriend close up. He was covered in bruises, some of which were fresh, but others had definitely been there for a few days at least. His clothing was almost hanging off of him, and it was covered with stains.

Spot wasn't sure if he wanted to know what had been done to his boyfriend anymore.

He took Racetrack's hand, and marveled at the difference between Racetrack's hand now and the last time that he had held it. Last time Racetrack had been tan from being outside at the tracks all day, but now his hand was paler than Spot had ever seen it before. Spot's skin was positively dark compared to Racetrack's, and Spot had never been one of the tanner newsies.

He closed his hand against Racetrack's, and lightly traced his fingers over Race's palm.

Racetrack was still sitting there, unresponsive. He hadn't spoken at all since Spot and Jack had appeared. His eyes were unfocused, and he was still shaking slightly.

Spot glanced over at Jack, who just shook his head slightly.

Spot knew what he was saying. Racetrack had cracked. He wasn't in there any longer.

Spot wasn't willing to believe that. He _couldn't_ believe that. Racetrack had refused to deny Spot's existence, and that was the only proof that Spot needed for Racetrack to still be there.

"We need to get him out of here," Spot said finally.

"Race?" Jack asked hesitantly.

Racetrack didn't respond, he just continued to sit there, curled up in a fetal position.

"Racetrack?" Jack repeated softly. "Can you answer me?"

Spot only had to assume that Racetrack couldn't answer, but he had been hoping that Racetrack would come to.

"Race," he said, a hint of desperation entering into his voice. "It's me, Spot. And that's Jack."

At the sound of Spot's voice, Racetrack stopped shaking, and his eyes came to focus on Spot for a bit. He opened his mouth, and instead of a response, Racetrack's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed into a heap.

"Shit," Spot muttered. He reached to pick up Spot, but Jack beat him to it.

"I've got him," Jack said quietly, and he picked Racetrack up in his arms, holding him like a child.

Spot glared at him in response. Racetrack was _his_ and Jack had no right to touch him.

"Look, Spot," Jack said quietly. "Just… just let me feel useful, okay? He's my best friend, and I've just fucked everything up… and let me do this much, at least."

Spot nodded his consent.

"Let's get him out of here," he said curtly, and the two of them began to make their way through the maze of corridors, Jack still holding Racetrack in his arms.

* * *

Their trip through the asylum had been completed in almost total silence, as Spot and Jack were trying to avoid the remaining guards. Spot wasn't sure exactly how long it had been since they had initially knocked out the two orderlies, but apparently, no alarm had been sounded.

It was easy. Almost too easy.

But still, Spot wasn't going to let that make him distracted, nor was he going to avoid taking advantage of the situation. The relative ease of their escape was allowing him to make plans for what was going to go on after they returned back to Brooklyn. And the one thing that Spot was sure of was that he wasn't going to allow Racetrack out of his sight again.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Jack…. Well, it _was_ that he didn't trust Jack. This entire mess had started because Jack hadn't _cared_ enough to go looking for him. And with the way that Racetrack was acting around Jack… or rather, the way that Racetrack was acting in general, he knew that it wouldn't be the best of ideas to allow Racetrack off with Jack. Not if he wanted Racetrack back.

Finally, they made it back to the hallway that they had started in. The corridor was empty, and all of the cells were locked up.

A hissing attracted his attention.

Spot turned around, and saw Amy gesturing at him through the bars of her cell. He went over to her, Jack following behind, still carrying an unconscious Racetrack.

"You need to get out of here," Amy said immediately. "The rest of the morning shift just got in, and they saw the whole group of us out in the hallway, and they're going to look for the intruders."

Spot nodded.

"Thanks for the warning," Jack put in, shifting Racetrack's weight in his arms.

"How's he doing?" Amy asked quietly.

Spot opened his mouth to tell her it wasn't any of her business, but Jack beat him to it.

"He'll recover, once we get him back to Manhattan."

Spot glanced at Jack in annoyance. He didn't know where Jack got off thinking that he was in charge, or that Spot was going to trust him around Racetrack after everything that happened, but now wasn't the time to talk about it. They could deal with it once Racetrack was out of this hell hole.

"Do you _mind_, Jacky-boy?" he asked. "Quit making small talk, and let's get out of here."

Jack nodded, and followed Spot down the corridor, until they arrived back at the spot where they had entered the asylum.

Spot glanced around, trying to find the way back to the Brooklyn. The light that had led them into the asylum seemed to have vanished.

"Fuck," Spot muttered, leaning against the wall.

He exchanged a glance with Jack. All they could do now was wait and hope that somehow the portal, or whatever had sent them here, would open back up so that they could get Racetrack to safety before the guards showed up.

Jack set Racetrack down, making sure that he placed Race in as comfortable position as he could manage, since there had still been no signs of Racetrack regaining consciousness.

Jack took a seat next to their unconscious friend, and sighed.

"I can't wait to get out of here, and get Racetrack back to Manhattan, where he belongs," Jack said finally.

"You mean Brooklyn," Spot informed him. "I'm not leaving him with you."

"He's one of my boys, Spot," Jack said, seemingly struggling to keep his voice low enough so that the guards which were supposedly combing through the asylum wouldn't notice them.

"That's where you're wrong," Spot corrected him, his voice low and dangerous. He didn't bother to keep the venom out of his tone.

Jack flinched, and Spot rolled his eyes. _How such a coward ever managed to become the leader of Manhattan… _

"Spot," Jack began, trying to stay calm. "It's just…is Brooklyn really the place you'd take someone when they've been hurt? Racetrack is going to need the support of his friends…. And how is he going to get that in Brooklyn?"

"I'll take care of him, Jack. After all, I've done a better job of that than you have."

"It won't be safe for him there," Jack pointed out, and Spot had to admit that there was some truth in his words. Brooklyn wasn't like Manhattan… the boys there were much more ruthless, and people weren't likely to have good friends. Spot had gotten to the top based on fear, and he knew that he'd been pushing his reputation with his obsessive search for Racetrack.

He really didn't want to admit that Jack might have a point, that it wouldn't be safe for Racetrack to be in Brooklyn. But if it came down to Brooklyn or Racetrack… Spot was fairly sure at this point that it would be Racetrack that he chose, but that would mean that they would both have to leave Brooklyn, since it wouldn't be safe for either of them there.

"I swear to God, Jack," he hissed. "I'll be checking in on him every day, and if anything happens to him while he's in your care, I'll kill you."

Jack paled considerably, and he nodded.

"I wouldn't hurt him, Spot, he's my best friend."

"You've done a real fucking good job of showing that."

A noise from where Racetrack was lying down caught his attention, and he glanced over to see that Racetrack was stirring slightly.

Spot got up, and moved over to where his boyfriend was sitting.

"Race," he said quietly, "can you hear me?"

There was no response at first, but finally, and with what appeared to be a great deal of effort, Racetrack raised his head to look directly at Spot.

"Spot?" he asked hesitantly, and Racetrack's voice sounded so… _tired_, like it had taken all of his energy just to manage that one word.

"I'm here," Spot said, taking Racetrack's hand, not caring about what it was going to do to his reputation. Besides, the only person here who could see him was Jack, and he didn't really _care_ what Jack thought anymore. As long as Jack kept his mouth shut about his relationship with Racetrack anyway.

Jack was glaring at him, but Spot just ignored it. Jack was jealous. The fucker.

Racetrack's breathing was labored, but he continued to try to speak.

"Are… are you… real?"

Spot felt like he'd just been punched in the stomach.

"Of course I'm real, stupid," he snapped, and winced as the words came out of his mouth. "Jack and I are getting you out of here."

He hoped that his voice was more reassuring now, but honestly, he wasn't sure. The stress from the entire situation was really beginning to get to him, and he didn't know exactly what it was that he was supposed to be doing.

"Jack?" Racetrack sounded so confused, and Spot felt something tug at his heart, but he didn't understand what it was that he was feeling. "No… Jack… he…"

Racetrack was shaking again.

"Don't strain yourself, Higgins," Spot said quietly. "He's here, we both are."

"Spot," Jack interrupted urgently. "Look!"

Spot turned his head, and saw the glow had appeared in the corridor once again. Jack gathered Racetrack back up in his arms, and the three of them headed through the doorway, and Spot strained to hear the last words coming from Racetrack.

"…isn't real…"

And then they were caught up through the glow of the portal, and the next thing Spot knew the three of them had made it out of the asylum, and the familiar sight of the Brooklyn Bridge greeted them.

They'd done it.

* * *

Author's Notes-I live! Shockingly. This chapter was almost impossible to write, because Racetrack wasn't speaking to me. However, it was far more entertaining than studying for finals… so the chapter actually happened. Of course, as I now have 4 fics in progress… yeah…

Also, I know that Spot seems a bit…. Obsessively angry with Jack. He's just Spot. And bitter. And I adore Jack, so I'm not just bashing him, I swear.

Many thanks to everyone who put up with my bitching about this chapter, especially Rina, Maddy, Jen, and Gothica. They rule. And Lute and B are awesome for beta reading.

Chapter title comes from The Boy From Oz.

Shout outs!

B-Yeah, you're right. You're always right. And I adore you for it. And… I'm not done torturing my darling yet. He's really annoyed about that…

Hazzagriff-I'm sorry about the length! For some reason my chapters always turn out really short, and I don't know why. And that was a mean cliffhanger, wasn't it?

Saturday-Your review amused me so much. You're seriously awesome, and I hope that you like this one!

Madison Square-You've reviewed before… if that's what you meant about it seeming familiar. Although, the plot of this is loosely based off a Buffy episode. looks at typo Oops! Thanks for catching that!

Shakespearean fool-Sorry it's so short… but we're approaching the ending really fast!

Koodles-blush I'm glad you're enjoying the plot so far. It just gets weirder from here.

Rina-Yay shades cheerleader! Do you sing the captain planet sprace song? loves madly

Lute-I'm glad you enjoy. loves

Glimmer-Well, Spot did beat them all up, so I don't think that Glimmer killing everyone is necessary… but I'm glad you're enjoying. hearts

Artist-I'm glad you like this! Hopefully, the next chapter will take less time…

Iambic Pentameter-blush Thank you for the compliment! I'm really worried about my characterizations, but I adore protective Spot. So does Race. Well, when he's conscious anyway.

Gothica-It took you this long to realize that I'm evil? loves

Next chapter – Race gets back to Manhattan. And is severely screwed up.

Til next time!

TSB


	15. SorryGrateful

Shades of Grey

Chapter 15- Sorry-Grateful

Spot collapsed onto the ground, and reached immediately for Racetrack. He wasn't sure exactly when he'd grown so overprotective of Racetrack, but… the image of Racetrack lying on the floor, utterly broken… it had torn at his heart in a way he hadn't thought possible. All he knew was, he wasn't going to let anything ever hurt Racetrack like that again, and he would use all of his power to keep him happy.

"Race!" a familiar voice called, and Mush and Blink came running across the bridge. Mush knelt down beside the unconscious Racetrack, and Blink stood a respectable distance behind, watching in concern as Mush cradled Race's limp form in his arms.

Spot stood up, and tried not to let the shakiness he was feeling show. This trip through that portal, or whatever it was, had been far more devastating on his equilibrium than the first one.

A groan from behind him got his attention, and he turned slowly, so not to lose his balance, and saw Jack was struggling to get to his knees. Spot didn't even bother to lend him a hand, he just headed towards Racetrack, who was still unconscious.

"Move," he said sharply, and Mush stared at him.

"I said," Spot repeated sharply, "get out of my way."

Mush mutely passed Racetrack over to him, and Spot took Racetrack into his arms, cradling his lover gently, inhaling Racetrack's scent. Placing a gentle kiss on Race's forehead, Spot just concentrated on the feeling of having Racetrack back with him, not caring that the reputation that he had worked on for so many years had probably just been destroyed.

He could hear Blink asking Jack what was going on, but Spot just ignored them. He carefully stood up, still cradling Racetrack, who was showing no signs of waking.

"Spot," Jack called. "Where do you think you're taking him?"

"Brooklyn, asshole. Where do you think I'm going?" Spot looked vaguely annoyed at Jack. Racetrack needed to get into some shelter, and Jack was being stupid.

"We decided he'd come back to Manhattan. You _know_ that."

Spot just ignored him. He did remember agreeing to that, but now that he had Racetrack back, he really didn't want to let him go again.

"Spot!" a familiar voice called, and Spot looked and saw one of his boys running towards him. Everything that Spot had worked for during his years as a newsie came rushing back towards him, and Spot briefly felt the need to try to reclaim some of his masculinity. To get back some of what he had worked for, for so long.

"What do you want, Skinner?" Spot shot back, not even meaning to sound as cold as he did. Now that Racetrack was back, now that he was safe, things were starting to slip back to normal. He didn't care what Manhattan thought of him, they were all weak anyway. But around Brooklyn… too much damage had already been done. At least they hadn't seen him kiss Racetrack.

Spot continued to mentally berate himself for that moment of weakness in front of the Manhattan boys. He usually wasn't even that nice to Racetrack when they were alone.

He shoved Racetrack into Jack's arms, wincing slightly at the forcefulness of his actions.

"Get him back to Manhattan," he snapped at Jack. "And you'd better send someone into Brooklyn to tell me how he is."

"Sure thing, Spot," Jack answered, sounding confused by Spot's immediate change of attitude after the appearance of the Brooklyn boy.

But Jack couldn't be more confused than Spot himself was.

Trying his hardest not to look back, Spot headed back to Brooklyn, leaving Racetrack behind once again.

* * *

As Jack and the others carried the still unconscious Racetrack back to Manhattan, he was forced to ward off various questions from the highly curious Blink and Mush about what exactly was going on between Spot and Race. It took a while, but Jack finally managed to make them both promise not to tell anyone. He knew that Mush would keep his mouth shut, but Blink tended to speak before he thought, so Jack wasn't entirely sure exactly how long Spot and Race's… whatever… was going to stay a secret.

Their progress back through the streets of Manhattan was slow, because they had to be careful with Racetrack. Even though he had lost a lot of weight while he was in that… in wherever it was, it was still a difficult task to carry him all the way back to Duane Street.

By the time they reached the lodging house, it was dark out. Jack was back to carrying Race, who looked practically dead. If Jack couldn't see the steady rise and fall of his chest, and hear the shallowness of his breathing, he would have believed that Racetrack had been killed.

The lodging house was crowded when they walked in. Most of the boys were lounging around downstairs, exhausted from their day of selling papers. The same subdued atmosphere that had permeated the lodging house since Racetrack's disappearance continued to hang in the air.

Specs, who had been seated in his usual spot on the stairs, let out a loud gasp as he saw Jack carry in Racetrack.

"He's back!" Specs shouted.

"Be quiet, Specs," Jack snapped, more harshly than he had intended to. "Race's sleeping."

"What happened?" Specs demanded, and a barrage of voices joined in, firing questions at Jack and the others faster than he could process them.

"Shut up, and let me through," Jack half-shouted, and he began to push his way through the crowd of newsboys to reach the bunks, which was rather difficult considering he was still holding Race.

Blink seemed to be taking matters into his own hands, and was doing his best to clear a path, as Mush was trying to answer the various questions, mostly with, "I don't know."

"Keep them out of the bunkroom for now," Jack called over his shoulder as did his best to make his way through the crowd.

When Jack finally managed to make his way up the stairs, he sat Racetrack down on his bunk, which had remained in the exact condition since Racetrack had left it weeks ago. Covering Racetrack with a blanket, he was quite surprised when Racetrack stirred slightly.

Jack sat on the edge of the bed, and brushed Racetrack's hair off his face.

Race's eyes were finally opening, just a bit.

His breathing was growing more rapid, and his mouth was moving as if he was trying to speak, but he couldn't seem to force the words out.

Jack leaned in, and lightly kissed Racetrack's forehead, as he had seen Spot do earlier. He wasn't sure exactly where the protective instinct had suddenly come from, but all he knew was that he wanted to make sure that Racetrack was going to be all right, and that nobody would ever be able to hurt him like that again.

Racetrack's eyes opened wider, and with what seemed like more effort than it should have taken, he finally managed to force out one syllable.

His voice was so tired, and so weak that Jack had to strain to hear it.

"Spot?"

Jack felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach.

"No, Race," he said quietly. "It's me, Jack."

As he watched Racetrack fight desperately to respond, Jack almost wished that that he'd just agreed with Racetrack, if it would save him the pain that he was seemingly going through now. Race's face was filled with so much agony, and Jack was feeling it with him.

"No," Racetrack sounded more confused than Jack had ever heard him before. "Not real."

"I'm right here, Race," Jack said, reaching for one of Race's hands, and caressing the bony fingers. "I'm here, and I'm not going to leave you again."

If Racetrack heard him, he made no sign that he understood. Instead he just passed out again.

* * *

Jack did his best to keep all of the other newsies out of the bunkroom, until it grew late enough that he had no choice but to let all of them in, because they had to sleep sometime. Jack knew that he wouldn't be selling the next day – someone had to stay in at the lodging house and take care of Racetrack. He'd promised Spot, but he knew that he would be doing this for Racetrack anyway. These new feelings of protectiveness had taken a hold of him, and he knew that there was no way that he was going to let Racetrack out of his sight until he had recovered.

Most of the newsies had questions, but Jack didn't have a lot of answers for them. He just made a brief announcement that Race had been picked up and put in some sort of weird asylum place, and that they shouldn't bother him until Jack gave the okay.

Jack switched bunks with Snipeshooter that night so that he could be there for Racetrack just in case anything happened. He stayed up for a long time, and he had just decided that it would be safe for him to go to sleep when Racetrack began to stir beside him.

It was the tossing and turning that first caught Jack's attention, because that was the most sound that Racetrack had made since his return. Jack jumped out of bed, and knelt besides Racetrack, who was flailing around in the bed. His mouth was open, and it was as if he was screaming, but no sound was coming out of his throat.

"Shh," Jack said desperately, placing his hands on Racetrack's shoulder's in a futile attempt to calm the hysterical boy down. "It's going to be okay, Race."

He could hear some of the other boys stirring from their sleep as Racetrack continued to thrash about. There were tears streaming down Race's face, and Jack wasn't sure what he could do to calm him. He didn't want to press down on Race any harder because Racetrack just seemed so weak after whatever it was that he'd gone through while he was in that hellhole.

Mush appeared at Jack's side, yawning slightly. Jack shook his head, and mouthed at Mush to go back to bed. Mush nodded, and quickly went around the lodging house, making sure that everyone else was going back to sleep also. Jack made a mental note to thank Mush later; he wasn't sure what he would do if he didn't have Mush there to help.

He just sat there, holding Racetrack until Racetrack finally started to quiet.

"Go back to sleep, Race," he whispered, in as comforting a voice as he could manage.

Racetrack just lay there for a while, blinking back tears.

He stayed up for the rest of the night, watching over Race, and wishing that he could make all of this pain go away.

Wishing that it was his name that Racetrack kept calling for, instead of Spot's.

* * *

Author's note – YES. I LIVE.

Um… sorry about that.

Anyway, after nearly four months, I managed to update. I'm quite shocked.

In important news, there are a couple of cool contests coming up! I'm turning 21 on April 14th, so in honor of my birthday, April 7-14 will be Racetrack week. If you post something Racetrack related send me an email at race queenitsy dot com and I'll put it up on the contest page.

Then Stage is having Specs/Dutchy week from April 15-21, and the crazy Javid fangirls are having David week from April 22-28. Clearly proving that we need to space out our birthdays a lot more.

Anyway, I know this is a shorter chapter, but it took forever to write. We're winding down… only another 2 or 3 chapters left. I have no idea where the whole Jack being in love with Racetrack thing came from, but now that it's here, its messing up my plot, which is making me pout.

Chapter title is from Company, which is a Sondheim show, and y'all should listen to the cast recording.

Shoutouts!

B-Stop typing like Blink, you h0! But I love you. And clearly, I love Jack as well. So there. (And thank you for being the most awesome person ever)

Gothica-You knew I was evil already. So there. loves

Rachel-I hope you don't mind now that it's getting slightly more lovey-dovey. But I'm glad you like the concept!

Artist-Yeah, Jack needs a hug. From Racetrack apparently. shrugs And Race is… severely messed up. I like torturing him too much.

Madison Square – I'm glad you liked, and I'm sorry it took so long. Spot does enjoy beating people up. :-D

Maddy- My darling, I'm so glad that you finally read. I love you! And no, Race still isn't talking to me.

Hazzagriff – at least there's no horrid cliffie this time. I figured they need some sort of a break.

Princess of Mirrors – You'll find out, now won't you? ;)

CiCi-I hope your Christmas Break went well! Wow… that just proves how long it took me to update this thing. Heh.

Shakespearean Fool – He's back, but… as you can see, he's not all there. He needs a hug, the poor boy. I'm so mean to him.

Glimmer – My Spot is almost always very very gay. And in love with Race. Or occasionally Jack. shrugs But its fun.

Iambic – Awww, I adore you! Thanks!

Saturday – Everyone does love Racetrack. Clearly, this is the problem. cries Stupid boys, messing with my plot…

Hotshot – I like Jack. Except when he messes up my plot. And Race has been through a hard time, but he'll get better. Maybe. I'm mean.

Bittersweetdragon – (twice!) I'm really glad you're enjoying.

Cabingirls – Nope, not the end. Not yet, anyway. We're getting close though…

Thistle – Did you know I was about to update? I had just sent this off to my beta when I got your review.

Til next time!

TSB


	16. Every Day A Little Death

Shades of Grey

Chapter 16 – Every Day A little Death

It was the light that finally made Racetrack wake up. Not the harsh and artificial light from the asylum, but real sunlight streaming in and hitting his face. He had almost forgotten what it felt like, but feeling the light hitting his eyes was just enough that it made his eyes open. Racetrack strained, trying to figure out what it was that had triggered some sort of memory in him. Everything was so confusing; he wasn't entirely sure what was going on, or where he was. It seemed familiar, but it wasn't the asylum.

There had been a place before the asylum, he reminded himself. Brooklyn. And Spot.

He vaguely remembered there was something else besides Spot, but the memories were so fuzzy that it was hard for him to put them together, and it just made his head ache even more. He could barely remember a time when his head didn't hurt him.

He could barely remember anything.

The light, which had seemed so comforting at first, had just started to irritate his eyes, and Racetrack blinked repeatedly. He tried to raise his head so that he could turn away from it, but it took more strength than he was capable of generating at that particular moment. He was pinned down by all sorts of blankets, and strangely, he felt safe.

That was the most confusing thing of all.

He'd thought that somewhere in the asylum he had heard Spot. And Spot had been there. But Racetrack was no longer sure if he could trust himself, or anything that he thought he knew. Nothing made sense anymore.

His head hurt.

He hurt all over. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open. The lights hurt badly. The light… the light was…

He let out a wince as the memories of the torture inside the cell came flooding back at him. It was too bright. But at least it was quiet.

"Racetrack," someone said. The voice was familiar. It wasn't the Doctor though. The Doctor didn't call him that. Neither would the Nurse. He had to be dreaming again. Dreaming that he was back… back where it wasn't real.

"Racetrack," the voice repeated, and Racetrack turned away from it.

It had to be the Doctor testing him. If he fought against it, then maybe they wouldn't put him back in Iso.

"Racetrack, it's Jack," the voice said.

Racetrack turned away from the voice. Now he knew this was a test. Jack wasn't real.

"Racetrack," the voice repeated, and Racetrack just got more confused. The voice sounded familiar, but it wasn't the voice of one of the staff. It sounded like someone who was familiar, but he still didn't know who it was.

It could be Jack… the voice seemed to match the name, but it just didn't make any sense.

Nothing made sense.

"Racetrack, please look at me," the voice pleaded. "Please, Racetrack, we got you back to the lodging house. You're safe, you aren't at the asylum any more. They can't hurt you now."

This was a different kind of test. They hadn't told him something like that before. Was this a sign that they were going to let him go? Was he cured?

There was slight pressure on his shoulder, and Racetrack winced in pain. He'd been hit there recently, but he didn't remember when or how. He thought it was from before, but he didn't know. The doctor's weren't there to hurt him, they were only testing him to make sure that he could go and become a productive member of society. Their lessons, even those that caused him pain, were for his own good. He knew that.

He just wished that they would let him keep the memory of Spot. He didn't care if it was just something he'd made up. He needed that delusion.

Hands were on him, and they were moving him. Racetrack closed his eyes, praying that whatever they were going to do to him was going to end quickly.

"Racetrack," the voice repeatedly gently, and for some reason Racetrack found it comforting. "Look at me. You're safe here."

Racetrack didn't understand what it meant to feel safe.

Safe was a feeling that he could barely remember. He knew that he'd felt safe once, but they had told him that it wasn't real. His memories of being in Spot's arms, of the strike, and of poker games with friends in the lodging house weren't real.

He opened his eyes.

Jack hated seeing Racetrack like this. The Racetrack that he knew didn't flinch back from anything. Racetrack had been one of the ones who had been yelling at him the day that he'd made the biggest mistake of his life, and one of the ones who had taken the longest to forgive. Racetrack was more prone to anger than hurt or sadness. Mush had been the one who had looked like his world had ended that day, while Racetrack had just seemed so angry.

But now, as Racetrack finally opened his eyes after Jack had pleaded with him, Racetrack's eyes were confused and filled with pain.

Jack immediately took his hand off of Racetrack, who let out a deep breath after the slight pressure was released.

"Welcome back, Racetrack."

"Is this real?" Racetrack's voice was quieter than Jack had remembered it. He sounded worn out and defeated.

The Racetrack he knew from before this would never have had to ask if this was real or not.

Pitch had been right, and he was broken.

"Where is Spot?" Racetrack asked, and Jack felt as if he'd been stabbed through the heart. He should have known better then to think that he could have possibly had a chance with Racetrack, and to even try something now was a thought that made Jack disgusted at himself for even thinking of.

"He's in Brooklyn, he'll be here later. Do you need me to go get him?"

"I… I…" Racetrack's breathing was getting more and more troubled, and Jack wasn't sure exactly what he could do for him. Placing a hand gently over Racetrack's own, he stroked the other boys hand in a fashion that he could only hope was helping to calm him.

"It's going to be okay, Race," Jack promised, taking the other boy's hand in his own. "You're safe here, we aren't going to let them hurt you again."

"Safe?" Racetrack gasped out. "What's… safe?"

Jack didn't know what to say, and he just sat there stroking Racetrack's hand.

Racetrack was still drifting in and out of consciousness when the rest of the newsies arrived back from selling that evening. The older boys who had been Racetrack's closer friends were crowded up by his bed, watching in silence as he tossed and turned. Racetrack was no longer crying out in his sleep as if he had during the day.

Jack sat and watched Racetrack sleep, and he did his best to fill the other boys in on exactly what had happened to Racetrack, while leaving out a few key details. He was pretty sure that his boys had been telling everyone all over the city that Racetrack was back, and if they'd even slightly exaggerated the condition that Race had been in when he'd returned to the lodging house, people would probably think that Jack had returned with Racetrack's corpse.

"Jack?" Blink asked hesitantly as he entered the bunkroom. "Is Race any better?"

"I don't know, Blink," Jack replied, as he lay down on Snipeshooter's bed. "He's hurt pretty bad."

"What happened?" Blink asked, and Jack looked up to see half the lodging house lurking behind him.

"Race got hurt," he snapped. "He ain't right in the head right now, but we're gonnafix him up as best we can. Stop asking questions 'til he's ready to talk about it."

To his credit, Blink didn't flinch back. Jack could see that there was real worry for Racetrack in his eyes. The two of them had always been close, and Jack wondered if Blink knew about Race and Spot.

He couldn't have known. Blink tended to act before he thought, and Jack knew that there was no way that Blink would have been able to keep something like _that_ a secret.

He was going to be careful around Blink now, around all of them, especially knowing how he felt about Racetrack.

Jack looked at the inquiring eyes of the various newsies, and knew that he was going to have to stop all the rumors now. He hated having to give orders. It wasn't like he was Spot. Nobody was able to do those things like Spot. Spot's reputation was one that commanded respect, where Jack still had to fight to regain whatever respect that he had before the strike.

"Don't ask him about it," he said, in as commanding tone as he could manage. "Race needs to rest."

"You gonna sell tomorrow, Jack?" Skittery called, much louder than even Jack had been speaking.

Racetrack groaned in his sleep, and began to shake. Jack glared at Skittery, and moved over to Racetrack. "It's okay, Race. You're safe."

Racetrack's eyes sprang open and his breathing grew erratic. The gathered newsies began to talk quietly among themselves, as Jack moved to sit on Racetrack's bed and tried to keep him from shaking.

"Blink, Mush, help me here," he called, and the other two newsies came to join him as they tried to keep Racetrack from struggling, although they soon noted that their actions just seemed to make Racetrack struggle harder against them.

"No," Racetrack's voice was low and filled with pain, but his speaking for the first time in the presence of the other newsies caused them all to fall silent immediately. "Make it stop, please, let me go." He continued to thrash about, seemingly desperate to break free. "I'll do anything, just please, let me go. I'm not a newsie, I swear I'm not."

There was a collective gasp from the gathered newsboys.

"Shut up," Jack snapped to the other boys, as he tried to wake Racetrack up from whatever nightmare gripped him.

Racetrack gasped, and he stopped shaking. "Spot?" he asked, and his eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I can't… Not _real_."

"It's going to be okay, Race," Jack said quietly. "It'll be okay."

He turned to Blink. "Sit with him." The command came much easier this time.

Jack got up off the bed and ushered the other boys out of the room. As soon as they made it downstairs, he stared at everyone until they quieted. "You're not going to bother Race. I mean it."

"What happened to him, Jack?" Dutchy asked nervously.

"He was hurt. That's all you need to know. No more questions."

The newsies exchanged glances, and finally Specs nodded. Some of the other boys followed suit.

Jack breathed a sigh of relief.

Until Racetrack's screams started echoing down the stairs.

Author's note-Um. It's been a while. Yes. But, school has started again. (My last semester. Then I graduate. Go me?) So, updates will hopefully be occurring more often. And I'm almost done! Only a few more chapters left. I know this one was short, but it was a transition, and I hate transitions. So there.

Many thanks to B for everything. Chapter title is from A Little night Music. I'm on a Sondheim kick. Next chapter, Spot returns.

Shoutouts!

B-Stop writing like Blink. You scare me. But I adore you.

Shakespearean Fool-Well, that would be the question. The boy does need a hug. B claims I'm ahead of her in the torturing contest…

Maddy-Yeah, the boy is broken. Someone should fix him. But not Jack. Who is still messing with my plot.

Berri-Only 5 months this time. And we miss you.

Hazzagriff-I'm glad that you're enjoying it. And I like the sprace too. Spot needs to come back and play in the story more.

Iambic-Plot points? Really? Who knew? And I wouldn't bet on Race's sanity. I'm not done with him yet.

Koodles-Um. I think most of the boys are straight. But Jack? Is bi. At least. He's definitely crushing on Race anyway.

Cabingirls-Race always needs a hug. Especially when I write him.

Rumor-(Three times!) You need to be online more hon. I've missed you!

Gothica-Oh, I'm worse than what you think.

Rama-The kisses would probably help. Alas, there's no morphine for Race. The drugs would probably mess him up even more.

Faro-Race isn't liking it very much either. Heee.

Bloomer-The story was always intended to be scifi – I based it off of a Buffy episode.

Dreamer-I'm glad that you (and your muses) are enjoying.

Gambler-Here's more for you! Sorry it took so long.

Glimm-Oh sweetie, your review made me so happy. Thank you. loves

Corpus-I'm glad you like my Spot. I adore him.

Lucky-The NJL is the newsies justice league – it's a writers group.

Til next time!  
TSB


	17. All The Wasted Time

Shades of Grey

Chapter 17 – All the Wasted Time

By the time the sun rose the next morning, Jack was exhausted. Racetrack had been having nightmares all night, and none of the boys had gotten any sleep. Skittery had eventually climbed out on the fire escape in disgust, saying that he needed to sleep and he couldn't do that with Racetrack there.

Everyone knew that he really didn't mean it that way – everyone was just tired and worried and they didn't know how to deal with it.

Jack didn't know what to do. Seeing Racetrack this way… hearing him as he begged for his tormentors to stop… he didn't know how to handle it.

Miraculously, Racetrack was sleeping for the moment. Jack momentarily thought about trying to get some sleep himself, but his stomach growled. He hadn't been selling in over a week now, and his money was starting to run low. And Racetrack… he was thin. Most of the newsies were skinny, but Racetrack was skeletal. He needed to eat. There wasn't any way that Race was going to be well enough to sell that day… maybe not ever again.

Jack groaned. He didn't know what was going to happen if Race didn't recover. He didn't want to think about that. He just had to believe that Racetrack was going to snap out of it, and go back to normal.

Or whatever passed for normal for Race.

Still, he had to sell today. Somebody was going to have to stay with Race. It had to be someone that Jack trusted, and it should probably be someone that Spot would approve of.

Not that a messenger had shown up yet. Spot had said something about a messenger showing up every day, but there hadn't been any sign of anyone from Brooklyn yet. If anything, that made Jack even more upset. Back at… wherever they had been, he had seen a different side of Spot. One that was far more human than Jack had ever thought Spot could be.

Jack got out of bed, and started pacing back and forth across the room, even though he feared that the noise was going to make Racetrack wake up. It had certainly made enough of the boys stir from their beds.

Blink and Mush had gotten out of bed as well, and they looked at Jack curiously. Jack gestured towards the stairs, and they started heading down, with some of the other older boys joining them.

"So," Jack said as soon as they were gathered there. "I need some volunteers."

"Volunteers?" Specs asked curiously.

"I need someone to go to Brooklyn and tell Spot what's going on with Race. And I need someone to stay here and make sure that Racetrack's all right."

He looked at all of the boys, and sighed inwardly as he noticed that most of them were shifting back and forth nervously, not meeting his gaze. Jack knew that none of them wanted to go to Brooklyn. And none of them wanted to skip a day of selling. They all needed to eat.

If this was Brooklyn, they would have done what he'd asked them without even thinking about it. Instead he was faced with a bunch of his newsies staring at him like he had completely lost his mind.

Then again, if this was Brooklyn, they would respect him and do what he said, but they wouldn't be his friends. And that wasn't really a trade that Jack was willing to make. Even if it would be helpful at this exactly moment to have some of the respect that Spot got.

He glared at the assembled group. "You know that Race wouldn't hesitate to help one of you out if you needed it," he pointed out. "He's spotted almost all of you two-bits if you were desperate, and half of you owe him money from poker anyway."

He felt very satisfied when most of them had the decency to look embarrassed. They knew that what he said was the truth. Still, he was probably exaggerating at least a little. Asking someone to go a day without selling was a lot, especially when right now there was no immediate end in sight to Race's condition.

Blink and Mush were exchanging significant glances. "We'll go to Brooklyn," Mush said finally.

"Yeah," Blink added with a snicker. "Someone should tell Spot what's going on with his – with Race."

Jack nodded, although he was mentally planning ways to kill Blink. The boy had no common sense at all.

"I'm not staying," Skittery said matter-of-factly. "It's bad enough that his screaming keeps me up all night, I'm not staying here to listen to him scream even more. You're all crazy if you think that I'm staying here to listen to him scream all day too."

He headed out. "Some of us gotta sell this morning," he called over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

"He does have a point, Jack," Specs said quietly. "We all want to help Racetrack, but… a guy's gotta sleep, you know? And eat. And we can't do that if we're sitting here all day."

The other guys nodded.

"What is this?" Jack said looking disgusted. "I thought we were supposed to be a family, looking out for each other. We don't turn on each other like that."

Jack regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. Most of the guys had been pretty accepting of him even after the fool he had made of himself during the strike. But he wasn't one to be lecturing them on turning on each other, and from the look on their faces they weren't going to let him forget it.

"Yeah, well, you'd know a lot about _that_, Francis," Boots snapped. "I'm gonna go sell."

He followed Skittery out the door, and most of the other guys who had gathered joined him. Blink and Mush paused on their way out.

"They'll come 'round, Jack," Mush said softly. "We all care about Race, and we'll still go to Brooklyn."

Jack sighed, and started to head back up the stairs. He couldn't leave Racetrack alone, but he really did need to sell. He was almost through his Santa Fe money.

"Jack," Kloppman called. "Aren't you going to sell?"

"Someone has to watch Racetrack," Jack reminded him.

Kloppman looked thoughtful. "You know, it wouldn't be that hard for me to check on him while I'm doing the cleaning and other things 'round here."

"You'd really do that?" Jack asked hesitantly. "I mean, I can pay you or something."

"Racetrack's been here a very long time," Kloppman said with a shrug. "Are you going to tell me what happened to him?"

"I…" Jack shrugged. He didn't really know how to explain it. And he wasn't even sure if he should try. It wasn't his story to tell.

"I can't really talk about it," he said after a moment. "I'm still not really sure what happened. But… the people who had him… they hurt him real bad."

Kloppman nodded. "Go carry the banner, Jack," he said softly. "I'll take care of Racetrack for you."

* * *

Spot was furious when he woke up in Brooklyn. He had come back to the lodging house to discover that there were four different factions making a play for power, and he had to deal with each and every one of those who thought that they could take over what was rightfully his. He hated the idea that his boys had been disloyal while he was gone. 

He hated the fact that he cared more about what had happened to Racetrack than what was going on in Brooklyn.

Things weren't supposed to be this complicated. Before Race had disappeared things were easy. He ruled Brooklyn, and occasionally met Racetrack in an alley. It was sex, nothing more. There were never supposed to be any feelings involved. That was the deal that they had made.

Of course, Racetrack had cheated. He'd made Spot _care_.

Not that this was unusual. Racetrack always cheated. It was just that nobody could ever catch him at it.

Spot glared at his boys as they lined up to buy papes. He was going to have to keep a careful watch on them for the next few days. He knew why they thought he was weak; the fuss that he'd been making over Racetrack had destroyed his carefully built reputation. Spot knew that the loss of his reputation was nothing. He'd done the right thing by getting Racetrack out of that hell, and he had to live with the consequences. He would come out on top; it would just take a little bit of time. Spot always won.

He would just have to make a few sacrifices for the moment. Sacrifices like Racetrack.

He just had to believe that it was worth it, and those idiots in Manhattan could take care of Race until it was safe for Spot to check up on him.

Which was why he was so annoyed when Blink and Mush showed up in Brooklyn, looking for him.

By the time they caught up with him, Spot had already sold his hundred papes. Jack Kelly wasn't the only one who could improve a headline.

"What do you two want?" Spot asked coldly. He was sitting on the docks, holding court among the rest of his boys who had finished their selling for the day.

"Jack said…" Blink began, but he shut up when Spot glared at him.

"What Jacky boy wants doesn't matter in Brooklyn. It's what I want."

"We know, Spot," Mush said, stepping on Blink's foot to try to get him to shut up and not make a fool out of himself for once. "We just… you asked for an update on Racetrack."

"Walk with me," Spot said, hopping off of the crate that he was perched on, and led the two Manhattan boys into an alley. He had rather fond memories of that alley, but that was neither here nor there.

"Well?" he demanded, as soon as the other boys were out of earshot.

"Race ain't doin' so hot," Mush began, but Blink interrupted him.

"Why haven't you been to see Race?" he demanded.

"None of your business, Ballat," Spot snapped.

"But it is," Blink protested. "Race is our friend, and he's your… well, I don't know what he is! But… when we got him back, it looked like you cared about him, and I didn't know that you could do that, and Race hasn't slept through the night at all, and we've all heard him asking for you, and you should go see him or something!"

Blink's words all came out in a rush, almost like he didn't even realize what he was saying.

"I thought you were going to keep a muzzle on him," Spot said to Mush, raising an eyebrow.

Mush shrugged. "He's right, you know."

"I'd watch what you say, if I were you," Spot said warningly, but his voice lacked its usual edge. He knew that they were right, he did care about Race, and he should go to see him.

"I gotta think," he said. "Go back to Manhattan."

"What about Racetrack?" Blink protested.

"I said, I gotta think."

He was going to have to make a decision sooner or later. He wanted to see Race, he _needed_ to see Race. But if he went to Manhattan now, he was going to lose Brooklyn. And he had to be sure that it would be worth it.

The two Manhattan newsies exchanged a significant look, and then they turned to leave.

"Don't worry Spot," Mush called over his shoulder. "We'll take care of Race, even if you won't."

"Yeah," Blink added. "Even if the others are starting to talk about taking him to a madhouse or somethin'"

"What are you talking about?" Spot demanded.

"We aren't gonna do anything," Mush said immediately. "But some of the other boys are starting to talk. Race can't sell, and none of us are getting any sleep, and something has to change…"

Spot took a deep breath. "Go back to Manhattan. And if I hear that you've done _anything_ to Racetrack, I'll make you regret it for the rest of your very short lives." His voice was steady, but inwardly he was shaking.

He really didn't want to choose between Racetrack and Brooklyn, but he knew what he needed to do.

He turned his back on the Manhattan boys, and headed back to the docks.

* * *

Author's note: Well. That was evil of me. Oh yes. And this story does live, and I'm as surprised as you are. We're almost done now. Only one or two more chapters left. 

Thanks to everyone who sent me reviews. I'm really sorry that this took so long. Since I last updated I've finished college, and I'm student teaching. (Economics evil. Just so you all know.)

Many thanks to Maddy for the beta. Chapter title is from Parade.


	18. Think About The Sun

Shades of Grey, Chapter 18 - Think About The Sun 

Jack didn't know what to expect when he returned to the Lodging House that night. He'd managed to sell enough that he could afford to pay Kloppman for Race's lodging for a week or so. It was going to have to be enough.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to know how things had gone in Brooklyn. Mush was responsible enough, but he didn't know if Blink had managed to behave himself to the point that Spot wasn't going to show up and beat the shit out of him with his cane like he'd threatened to.

"How is he, Kloppman?" Jack said without preamble.

Kloppman shook his head. "You need to do something, Jack," he said softly. "He can't stay here like this."

Jack winced. He'd been counting on Kloppman's support for the argument that was sure to happen if Racetrack had another nightmare that night. Which he probably would, since he had had nightmares every night.

Heading upstairs to the bunk room, Jack did his best to ignore the accusatory looks that were being thrown at him by just about everyone.

"How's Race?" he asked.

Skittery stepped forward. "Tell us what the hell they did to him," he demanded.

"It's none of your business," Jack snapped back at them.

"That's where you're wrong," Skittery replied. "Because Race keeps screaming about a hospital and people telling him not to be a newsie. So if someone is doing this to us, and someone is hurting the newsies, then damn right we have the right to know."

"I really don't know where it was," Jack said without thinking. "There was a weird door, and we went in, and Race was being hurt, and…"

"And you should really learn to keep your mouth shut about things that don't concern you, Jacky Boy," Spot's voice cut in. "Some giant slayer _you_ turned out to be."

"And where the hell have you been, Conlon?" Jack demanded. "For someone who supposedly cares so mu –" he shut up as Spot crossed the room and stuck his cane in Jack's face.

"Don't talk about things that you know nothing about," he said, his voice cold as ice. "I'm taking Racetrack with me," he added.

"Well, good riddance," Skittery muttered.

Spot whirled around, cane fairly flying, and the next thing that Jack knew Skittery had been hit and he was lying on the floor in a heap.

The room was instantly quiet. Nobody was stupid enough to mess with Spot while he was in a temper. And they'd all kind of figured by now that there was something slightly… off… with Spot and Racetrack's friendship.

"Watch your mouth," Spot said quietly. "I thought you Manhattan boys were supposed to be _brothers_ and all that."

He glared at the room, and nobody had the decency to meet his gaze. Most of them looked fairly ashamed of themselves, but a few still looked slightly defiant.

"You ain't been here while he's been screaming," Specs said quietly. "We just… we can't _help_ him, Spot. Nobody can. Maybe… if he was in a hospital, you should have left him there."

Specs looked like he instantly regretted his words. Normally he wouldn't have argued with Spot, especially with him being all crazy and whacking Skittery, but it really did need to be said, and he'd never entirely known when to keep his mouth shut, even if he was slightly better about it than Blink. Besides… there was always the chance that Spot would listen to reason.

"The _hospital_ is what did this to him," Spot snapped. "And he'd do better with me than with you guys. You're all as much traitors as Francis here was."

Jack winced. They were both right. He had betrayed Race. But… he had tried to take care of him. He'd tried to do what was best. He'd just tried to protect everyone. He'd tried to protect David by going scab, and he'd tried to keep Racetrack safe in the lodging house.

"Um, Spot?" Mush asked hesitantly. "You sure the Brooklyn Lodging House is the right place for him? Race is my friend and I don't want him to get hurt…"

"We're not going to the Lodging House," Spot said shortly, crossing the room to where Racetrack was huddled in the corner. "Skinner is leading Brooklyn now."

* * *

When Mush and Blink had left Brooklyn, Spot had known that he had a really difficult decision to make. He could keep control of Brooklyn, or he could find another place to take care of Racetrack. He couldn't have both. His situation as leader of Brooklyn wasn't as strong as it had been ever since he'd spent so much time obsessing about Racetrack. His boys were beginning to think that he was weak, that he was obsessed, that he wasn't strong enough to be the leader anymore. Those sorts of challenges had always been an issue, but most of the time people were far too scared of Spot to actively fight against him, and Spot's reputation had always protected him.

He needed his reputation to run Brooklyn. But he didn't know if that reputation was worth the cost. He'd sacrificed enough already.

The dockworkers knew of Spot's reputation among the newsies, and they had been willing to take him on. The job wasn't wonderful, but it was going to be enough that he could find a room for him and Race. Leaving Racetrack alone during the day would be something to worry about, but he would work around that as he needed to.

Calling the Brooklyn boys together was actually more difficult than it should have been. In the old days, when Spot called, people came. That, more than even the love or whatever it was that he felt for Racetrack, convinced him that he was making the right decision. His days as the leader of Brooklyn were numbered.

Once all of the boys were finally at the lodging house, Spot stood in the middle of the room.

"I'm done," he said without preamble. "Skinner's the leader now."

He was almost out the door when he heard a voice mutter, "Good riddance."

It was definitely time for him to go on with his life.

* * *

Spot hadn't quite known what sort of reaction to expect from the Manhattan boys, but they didn't disappoint him. There was a moment of stunned silence, followed by shouts of disbelief.

Useless. All of them.

He dropped down beside Racetrack, who was shaking quietly.

"C'mon, Race," he muttered. "Time to go home now."

Racetrack didn't protest as Spot picked him up and put him on his feet. He was still too thin. It had only been a few days since he'd been rescued, after all.

Placing a hand on Racetrack's arm, he began to guide him out of the bunkroom.

"Go get Race's things, Jacky Boy," Spot demanded.

"What gives you the right to take him?" Jack demanded.

"You know what gives me the right," Spot said coldly, silently daring Jack to challenge him. Leader of Brooklyn or not, he was still Spot Conlon.

Jack gathered Racetrack's things without another word. There was really nothing that he could say.

Race needed Spot's support to make it all the way down the stairs. He was barely responsive to what was going on around him. Spot knew that it was going to take everything that he had to bring his Race back. But Race was tough. And even in that hellhole, Racetrack hadn't given up on him. He'd given up on Jack, but he hadn't given up on Spot. And Ballat had said that Racetrack had been calling for him.

Racetrack would get back to normal. He knew it.

The Manhattan boys were all oddly quiet as Spot helped Race down the stairs. At least they weren't arguing with him anymore.

"Take care of him," Jack said quietly.

Spot just nodded, and led Racetrack out of the Lodging House. Their time as newsies was done.

* * *

_Six months later_

Tony was trapped. The lights were there again, and the noise, and he couldn't move, and there was a voice telling him that everything he knew was a lie. Nobody was coming for him. Not his friends, not Jack, not Spot, nobody. It was all over and he was going to be trapped until he died. Which might be sooner rather than later.

The next thing he knew, he was sitting in bed, and Sean's arms were around him. "It's okay," Sean said quietly. "I got you out. You're safe now."

Tony just sat there, trying to relax in Sean's arms. It was getting easier to remember who he was, where he was, but it didn't always work. He was here, and he was with Sean, and he was safe.

He closed his eyes and tried to block out the voices. But he could still hear them, even with Sean there holding him. The doctor, and Nurse Snyder, Tag, and Amy. They were all there, right in front of him.

"It's the Iso, you know," Amy said quietly, her eyes filled with tears. "It breaks you. You'll always be here with us."

Tag nodded, reaching around Sean to pat his arm. "You know that they're just going to abandon you again. You're crazy, just like the rest of us."

Tony curled up against Sean, trying to block them out, but they were always there, just waiting for him.

And deep down he knew that they were right. But Sean was here now, and at least if he closed his eyes he could pretend that Sean was real, and he was safe, even if he knew that the Asylum was always there, just waiting.

* * *

Author's Notes-Well. It's done. And it only took me… almost three years?

So… this was based off one of my favorite Buffy episodes – "Normal Again." In which Buffy wakes up in an asylum and has been told that everything is just her hallucinations and there is no slayer.

I hope that everyone enjoyed reading this – I certainly enjoyed writing it! I was a sophomore in college when I started, and now I'm a teacher. Shocking!

Many thanks to B, signpost, Gothica, Glimmer and everyone who has reviewed or encouraged me to finish this.

Til next time!

TSB


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